Neurotically Obsessed
by FallenMystery
Summary: Oliver has always been obsessed with Katie. I mean, Quidditch. Katie has always been neurotic. Which is kind of Oliver's fault. Well, entirely Oliver's fault. So is the fact that she's flying for Puddlemere United. Calamity ensues.
1. The Cup

Disclaimer: If I were JK, I would have given Sean Biggerstaff a throne.

A/N: My semi-promised Oliver Wood story!

A/N2: Please don't lynch me for stalling _Madness_! I figure you all would rather wait for a good chapter than have a bunch of shitty ones. Let me know if I'm wrong, though. I could turn out a mediocre chapter faster than hell. If you love me, read?

Oliver Wood: Obsessed Quidditch Captain, very driven, slightly insane. _Slightly,_ as in comes-this-side-short-of-suicide-after-losing-a-game. But nothing big, right? Oliver Wood: Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team his fifth, sixth, and seventh years of Hogwarts. Keeper since second year. Actually managed to deal with Fred and George Weasley.

Obsessed only begins to describe him.

.xXx.

It was pouring buckets outside, and never was there a more pathetic sight than the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Why? Because due to default, we had just lost our first game since Harry joined the team. And no one had seen our Captain since he demurely admitted to the ref that Hufflepuff had won.

As we left the Hospital Wing, I looked around. "Really, where _is_ Wood?" I asked.

"Like I said, he's probably still in the locker rooms, trying to drown himself." We paused in the hallway, looking at each other.

"So," I started. "Who's gonna go get him this time?"

Everyone silently avoided each my gaze. I swore. "Why is it always me?" I demanded, shaking out my soaking wet hair, which only managed to tangle around my face. I brushed it away and glared at my friends.

Fred and George smiled easily. "Because he loves you oh so much, Bell," Fred assured me. I groaned.

"I mean, if Fred and I went down there to get him, he'd probably hex us into the next century."

"Just because we're not as pretty as you are," Fred continued.

George snorted. "Speak for yourself, mate. I, however—"

"Alright, alright!" I snapped. "Go… be warm and crap. I hate you all anyways."

Scowling, I left them behind as they chuckled, wrapping my soggy robes tightly around myself as I exited the castle and made my way to the Quidditch Pitch, muttering all sorts of profanities and complaints about my mad captain-slash-best friend as the icy rain drenched me. By the time I got to the locker rooms, I was shivering fiercely.

Sometimes I hate that boy.

"Oliver?" I called uncertainly. No one answered. A quick look around told me that the locker rooms were empty. "There is no way he went back up to the castle," I said to myself as I left. "Where on earth did the prat go? He'd better be alive, because when I find him, I'm gonna kill him."

I stood on the side of pitch for a long moment, trying to see past the heavy rain that was pounding down, stinging and freezing where it hit my skin. There, leaning against the Gryffindor hoops, was Oliver Wood, and he had likely been there since the match had ended, and no one had noticed. The string of profanities started all over again as I stepped out onto the pitch, which was ankle-deep in cold water. When I got to the hoops, I found my Captain with a Quaffle in his hands, leaning against the post with his knees propped up, unmoving.

His lips were a startling shade of blue.

"Oliver Alban Wood!" I snapped. "Where is your sense?" He didn't move. "Oliver?" He was still. "Ol?" My voice was frightened now, and I knelt down next to him, touching his shoulder. He looked at me blearily.

"Kates?" his voice was rusty.

My heart pounded with relief. "Oliver, what the _hell_ are you doing—trying to kill yourself?"

He closed his eyes again. "Go away."

"Bull."

"Harry?"

"He's fine. His broom, however, is toast." He groaned. "Come inside, genius, before we both get hypothermia," I demanded. "It's like Chinese Water Torture out here."

"I can't face them, Katie," he insisted, opening his eyes again. He looked at me urgently. "Don't you understand? I failed them—I failed _you."_

I felt my legs going numb from kneeling in the water. I could only imagine how _he_ felt. "It's not the end of the world, and it is most certainly not your fault. You're the most brilliant Captain there is, Wood. We've just hit some rotten luck over the years. We'll fix this, though. There's still a chance."

"Yeah, a snowball's chance in hell, maybe."

I lifted a hand and cupped his cheek, which was startlingly icy, even against my frozen skin. "Oliver," I said gently. He glumly looked up at me. "Oliver, we need you. We can't win this without you. You are our _Captain,_ and a damn good one at that. I'm not giving up on you, so don't you dare give up on the team. It's _Hufflepuff,_ for Godsake, and it's just a margin of points. You know us, Ol—we'll work our butts off to put that cup in our Captain's hands, complaining the whole way. Now seriously, come inside before we both freeze to death."

I stood slowly and offered my hand to Oliver. He pulled off his sodden gloves and gave me his bare hand. With my help, he stiffly rose. I wrapped an arm around his waist and slung his arm over my shoulders and helped him hobble up to the castle. Thank god for Quidditch muscles. We left a river of water behind us as we limped up to the Common Room.

Inside the Common Room, we found the rest of the team. They all looked startled to see how disheveled we were.

"You're both blue!" Alicia gasped.

I made a face. "You're telling me."

"Guys," Oliver rasped. "I—"

"Shut up, Oliver," I interrupted my best friend bossily. "No one wants to hear your apologies. Fred, George, could you take this prat up to his dorm and pester him until he's had a hot shower and is wearing dry clothes?"

The twins exchanged glances. "Yes, mother," they chorused.

"Actually, wait a sec. COLLIN!" Little Collin Creevey dashed down the stairs, camera in hand.

"Yes?"

"Collin, can you do me a favor and take a picture of Oliver and I real quick?"

"S-sure!" he replied enthusiastically.

"Katie," Oliver protested.

"Nuh-uh. I am going to save this picture forever, to remind you of what a dipshit you can be sometimes. Now smile pretty for the camera and then you can go."

Once the boys were gone, I stripped my robes so I was left in my soaked tank top and shorts. I moved to stand by the fire.

"What happened?" Angelina asked.

"Our insane Captain was sitting in the rain, on the damn pitch, which was ankle deep in water. He said he 'couldn't face us.' I swear to God, that boy is going to be the death of us!"

Angelina and Alicia exchanged a glance. "Ya know, Katie, I don't think I'm going to claim him."

"Neither am I," Alicia conceded. "I guess that makes him your problem."

I rolled my eyes. "Great, just what I need, a five-foot-eleven two year old who doesn't even have the sense to come in out of the rain."

Angelina raised an eyebrow. "Neither do you."

"Oi! You all sent me back out into the rain to fetch him! Next time _you_ get to go!" I protested. My two girlfriends snickered. I stuck my tongue out at them, then looked down at myself. "Why am I still wearing my wrist guards?"

Alicia coughed delicately. "Katie, go take a shower. You're still blue."

I wrapped my arms around myself. "I want to wait and make sure Oliver's okay."

"He's fine," Alicia assured me. "Go take a shower, put on something warm and flannel, then come back down. He'll be back out here by then, and you can look over every inch of his gorgeous Scottish body to make sure he's okay." Her voice was thick with implications, but I wasn't paying attention.

"Okay," I said vaguely, my mind elsewhere. I picked up my dripping robes and wandered upstairs.

When I returned, Oliver was sitting on a couch, staring into the fire with a troubled expression on his face. I impishly draped myself across his lap, looking up at him. He looked down at me with his chocolate eyes.

"Thank you, Katie."

I grinned. "What kind of friend would I be if I didn't drag inside when you don't have the sense to come in out of the rain?"

He leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling, idly running his fingers though my wet hair. "What would I do without you?" he mused.

"You'd be missing one very hot friend," I teased, trying to lighten his mood. It worked.

"That's very true," he said, looking back down at me. His eyes laughed, which I knew was a good sign. "But then, what would you do without me?"

I pretended to consider this. "Well, I'd probably get a lot more sleep without all of those dawn practices."

He laughed this time. "Then I bet you just can't wait until I graduate."

Behind the joke, I could see a sadness in his eyes. I understood. No one wants to leave Hogwarts—it's like home. It _is_ home, actually. I would live here forever, if I could. "I don't know, I might miss your mad captaining," I told him.

He grinned. "What, you're not going to take up that legacy for me?"

I laughed outright. "Please, when you graduate, of course Angelina's going to be Captain, and Harry after her. I don't _want_ to be Captain."

"Why not?" he asked curiously.

"Because I see how loony it's driven you!"

"Very funny, Bell. Really, though. You should try out. I'll put a good word in with McGonagall for you."

I shook my head. "Really, Oliver, I'm not kidding. I just want to _play._ I don't want to have to worry about what everyone else is doing."

"What about all those times you've helped me with plays?" he wanted to know.

I gave a half-shrug, still lying down. "I like coming up with plays and everything, but I personally believe that only Keepers should be Captains."

"And why is that?" he asked, giving a half-smile.

"Well, it makes the most sense. A Captain has to watch his team at all times, right?" I knew that one—Oliver was always complaining about having to watch all of us at once on the field.

"Yes," he admitted.

"Well, the Seeker should only have eyes for the Snitch—that's how games get won. Beaters should be focused only on the Bludgers, or someone would get hurt. Chasers should keep their eyes _just_ on the Quaffle and the other Chasers. The Keeper, however, is at a perfect vantage point to keep tabs on everyone. See my reasoning?"

"Good point," he mused. "I wonder if that's why McGonagall made me Captain…"

"No, Ol. She made you Captain because you're the most amazing and dedicated Quidditch player this school has ever seen, and the moment you set foot outside Hogwarts, you're going to get drafted by some professional team."

He rolled his eyes. "Katie, no one gets drafted right out of school."

I raised my eyebrows. "Did I not just mention that you're the most amazing and dedicated Quidditch player this school has ever seen?"

He sighed. "Do you ever think about what's going to happen when you're a seventh year?"

I grimaced. "I prefer not to think about that. I mean, you'll all be gone. You, Angelina, Alicia, Fred and George, Lee. I'll be all alone here, just because I'm a few years younger. It bites."

"Yes, sometimes it does pay to be older and superior."

I snorted. "Oliver, I just dragged you in from the freezing rain. Do you really want to talk about superior?"

"Um, where did everyone go?" he asked.

I blinked, coming back into reality. "You know, I haven't seen anyone since we came downstairs."

"Huh. Weird."

"Yes, weird," I agreed suspiciously. Something about examining Oliver's gorgeous Scottish body registered in my mind. My friends are so weird. "Will you help me with my Herbology?"

.xXx.

Oliver had ordered the entire team to go to sleep hours ago. Only Harry obeyed, but he's probably lying in his dorm, as awake as the rest of us.

Alicia was pacing in quick circles that would make any normal girl dizzy in a heartbeat, talking in a rapid and high pitched voice about all sorts of school gossip, likely repeating herself over and over, but none of us could tell what she was saying anyway. If that were me, my voice would have run hoarse ages ago, but that's Alicia for you.

Angelina had a book open on her lap and was staring at it, her eyes not moving. She was the stoic one of us, always trying to be normal when the rest of us had shot appearances to shit. But we all know that deep, deep down, she's as loony as the rest of this. Probably.

Fred and George were playing Exploding Snap, but they were obviously as wrecked as the rest of us, because they couldn't seem to make it past two cards, and their robes were quite singed. Besides that, we had all grown so used to the sounds of explosions that we no longer jumped, even though we were all completely on edge.

Oliver, poor boy, was sitting on the floor in front of a low coffee table. The table was spread with hundreds of plays, and he was sorting through them furiously, scratching things out and writing things in. From where I was sitting, I could hear that he was frantically mumbling to himself in his lovely Scottish voice.

And me? I'm neurotically chewing on Sugar Quills while sitting across the table from Oliver, staring at him intently. I lost count on the number of quills I'd eaten after 23, but I'm almost through with a box of them. Fortunately, I have several more handy.

I should also note that I have a habit of stripping when I'm annoyed or nervous. Right now I'm sitting in my skirt and cami, still wearing my tie, with my robes, blouse, vest, shoes, and socks piled next to me. Yes, I'm a nervous stripper.

Really, it's not usually this bad before a game, but this is _the_ game. The last game. _Oliver's_ last game at Hogwarts. His last chance at the Cup. Tomorrow means so much… we should really be sleeping. But really, the six of us are so entirely neurotic, I think even if we were sleeping, we'd be dreaming about doing what we're doing now.

"Oliver?" He ignored me. "Oliver!"

"Not now Katie. I just need to tweak this right here…"

I sighed and walked around the table to sit next to him, viewing the play he was looking at. I touched one of the little figures with my finger. "No, no. Switch me with Ange there, and swing Alicia wide on Ange's left. Then I can swoop down under her, faking them out, see? Ange can drop the Quaffle to me, and Alicia is in perfect place to catch it and put it through the middle hoop."

He blinked at the parchment. "Katie, you're a genius." He made the appropriate corrections, then stretched and ran a hand through his hair, looking at the rest of the team. "They're not going to sleep, are they?"

"No more than you are."

Oliver looked from the team back to the plays, then back to the team. He smiled roguishly at me. "About time we put them to use then, eh?"

I grinned wickedly as he called the team to order and began having them memorize plays.

.xXx.

We were all in a sort of slow motion, stunned euphoria. I landed practically on top of Oliver, who was positively crying with happiness. Everyone was screaming with delight, but I couldn't hear anything in particular; it was all a sort of background noise. Oliver laughed and caught me around my waist, swinging me in a circle.

"Katie, we did it!" he shouted. We were all pummeled fiercely on the backs by a number of excited people. "We won the Cup!"

Just then, he let go of me to accept the shining Cup, laughing maniacally. Seeing him hold it, I felt relief flood me. For all my blithe assurances, I had worried about what would happen if we didn't win the Cup. If _thinking_ we wouldn't win it had driven him that close to the edge, I can only imagine what would happen if we _didn't_ win it. He handed the Cup over to Harry, who looked just as staggered as the rest of us. McGonagall was practically dancing with glee and looking over at Snape triumphantly.

"You did it Oliver!" I shouted, fighting to be heard in the mayhem. I jumped into his arms, and he picked me up easily, laughing freely, his face completely lit up.

"Katie, _we_ did it, all of us!"

The Gryffindor Common Room spent that whole damn night partying our arses off. Those of us in uniform had the best time, and not just because everyone else pampered us and begged for our personal recounts of the game time after time. No, we had the most fun because between us there was an unconquerable feeling of accomplishment. We won the Quidditch Cup. Oliver's face didn't lose the little-kid-on-Christmas-morning cast all night. Fred, George, and Lee pulled the most hilarious stunts. Over and over again, we congratulated each other, or someone would randomly shout "WE WON THE QUIDDITCH CUP!" and everyone would start cheering again, no matter how many times it happened.

"Ollie, Ollie, we won the Cup!" I laughed, falling into Oliver's lap. By now, we were all buzzed with a little more than excitement, if you know what I mean. Third years and below were long asleep, so Fred and George had broken out the Firewhiskey.

Oliver, his eyes less focused than usual, grinned at me. "I always knew we would!"

I snorted in a very unladylike fashion. "Oliver, you nearly froze yourself to death on the Quidditch Pitch, and I had to literally drag you inside."

"Oh yeah," he said, blinking. "Huh."

A very popular, upbeat song by the Weird Sisters came on, and everyone screamed in excitement. "Come on, Ol, dance with me!" I exclaimed, bouncing out of his lap and standing, offering him my hand.

Oliver took my hand and I hauled him to his feet, then we joined the massive group dancing close together in the center of the Common Room. We had pushed the furniture to the edges of the room long ago.

The song ended, and a slow one started. Most people just grabbed whoever was closest to them and relaxed in that person's arms. Oliver and I did the same, holding on to each other as our heartbeats slowed and the sweat cooled on our faces. I felt Oliver's heart slow against my chest, and I rested my forehead against his neck.

See, this is the great thing about being tall. Sure, I'm sure it's great and everything to be cutesy and small like Alicia, but I like being tall. 5'7" isn't giant, but I can take care of myself. Besides, this way I don't have to tilt my head all the way back to look up at guys. Alicia always looks so funny when she's staring up at people, and I don't have to suffer that indignity. And I can rest my head comfortably against Oliver's neck. And that was when it occurred to me that I was officially smashed.

.xXx.

I woke up the next morning on one of the couches in the Common Room with a terrible headache. I slowly picked myself up and vaguely realized that I was asleep on top of the one and only Oliver Wood. It wasn't like that was the first time it'd happened, though, so I wasn't too put out by it. I grimaced at the taste in my mouth and picked up Oliver's hand to read his watch. Noon. Older students were draped around the Common Room in various positions, several people situated just like Oliver and me. We've probably successfully scarred any younger students who had woken up to go down to breakfast. Once again, so much for superiority.

I glanced around to find the team and had to muffle my giggles against my arm. Fred, George, Angelina, and Alicia were all lying in an uncomfortable-looking knot on the floor. Fred and George were crossed over each other, with Angelina's head pillowed on Fred's stomach and her legs under George's knees. Alicia was lying over George, with her legs tucked between the two twins. I bet they're going to have some unpleasant cramps when they wake up.

Speaking of, I looked back down at Oliver. He was stretched flat out under me, his hair messy and sticking out in every direction in a very undignified manner. I poked him.

"Oliver," I whispered. He groaned and batted at me half-heartedly. "Wake up, Wood!" I sighed. This called for drastic measures. I carefully put my finger in my mouth, then stuck it in his ear.

"YEAGHACH!" he yelled, leaping off the couch and knocking me to the floor. Messing with Oliver's ears is the one guaranteed way to wake him. And it is generally a rather violent process.

"Morning," I said cheerfully as he collapsed back on the couch, holding his head. My headache had pretty much dissipated.

"Not funny, Bell," he grumbled, looking blearily around the Common Room.

"I beg to differ." He glared at me. "Hey Ol?"

"What?" he snapped.

"We won the Quidditch Cup!"

With that, he grinned like a wolf and jumped up, catching me in his arms and swinging me around again for the hundredth time. "That we did, Bell. That we did."

When he set me down, I looked around. "So… do you think we should wake everyone up and save what's left of their pride, or let them sleep and pretend we were never part of such an undignified ordeal?"

"Um… let's pretend we were never part of such an undignified ordeal," he decided, his eyes resting on the knot that was the rest of the team. Besides Harry, of course. I followed his gaze.

"Want me to go get Collin?"

"You're diabolical, Bell."

.xXx.

"KATIE BELL!" came Angelina and Alicia's shrieks of fury a couple of days later.

I winked across the Common Room at Oliver, who smirked back at me. "Yes?" I asked casually as they burst in through the portrait. In evidence, they held up the photos that I had slipped in their bags that morning. "Wow, that's quite attractive, girls."

"Katie, you're behind this," Alicia fumed, her eyes narrowed.

"We'll get you," Angelina promised. And let me assure you, I have revenge-happy friends.

The next morning, pictures of me sleeping on top of Oliver were posted all over the Common Room. All I can figure is that Collin took pictures of us on his way down to breakfast. Traitor.

And yeah, sure, that's all fun and games, but of course it started rumors. Rumors about me and a certain Scottish Quidditch Captain. Someone save me.

A/N: How'd you like it? This is really just an introduction. It gets freaking hilarious, I promise. The next chapter (which I coincidentally posted!) involves cute!Cedric, revengeful/bloodthirsty!Katie, and smirking!Oliver. Love you guys!


	2. It Must Have Been the Accent

Disclaimer: If I were freakishly rich, I'd own a goddamn country, not just an island!

"Bloody no-good, dirty rotten plants," I muttered to myself as I continued to dig the hole. Manually. This was detention, of course. Thanks to my lack of skill in Herbology, I was digging a hole to bury used dragon dung in. Damn Oliver for graduating and taking away his wonderful Herbology help.

"Bell, what are you doing?" a familiar voice asked.

I looked up at Cedric, who was surveying me with an amused smile. I gave a sarcastic grin and pushed my sweaty hair out of my face. "I'm being punished for my black thumbs of death, because I can't have happy green thumbs like the rest of you prats." He raised an eyebrow. "It's not my fault that any plant I touch dies a horrible and tragic death!"

He laughed at that. "If you're that bad, how did you make it this far?"

"I had help," I told him tersely, bending to my task. Damn dirt.

"And you don't have help now because…?"

"Because my help graduated and left me to deal with these farking plants all by myself."

I heard him muffle a snort. "Who?"

I sighed inwardly. Those rumors about Oliver and I had never died down completely, and some bitch named Rita Skeeter had fluttered on the edges of magazine articles, slipping in a quick word about the 'questionable' love life of Puddlemere's newest member.

"Wood?" he asked, and I heard unholy glee in his voice. I have no idea why everyone is so fascinated by us. I mean, there's a pool about our relationship down at the Three Broomsticks. Rosmerta think's it's the cutest thing in the world.

"No…" I hedged, searching my mind for a better answer.

"Who?"

"Um, Flint," I said quickly, internally wincing at the name the moment it left my mouth. It was just the first thing that came to mind. He was silent, and I looked up to see him smirking at me. "What?" I asked tentatively.

"First of all, as if you would ever so much as _speak_ to Flint, and second, do you really think that troll was any better at Herbology than you are?"

Great. As soon as I'm done digging this literal and metaphorical hole, I'm going to step in it and have someone bury me. Cedric seems to be a great candidate.

"Fine, it was Oliver."

"Ha! I knew it! Didn't he get accepted onto Puddlemere United or something?"

I nodded instantly, glowing with pride for my friend. "Second string Keeper, but rumor has it Greg's going into retirement in a year or so."

"Yeah, he injured his shoulder last year, and he hasn't been doing so well since. Wood's got to be one of the youngest players in the game."

"Says the Hogwarts Triwizard Tournament contestant!"

He was quiet for a moment as I dug. "So, do you reckon someone else really put Potter's name in that hat?"

I froze, slowly looking up at him. "Yeah, I do. Harry's been in some pretty outstanding situations since he's been here, and every time, people say that he's a liar, and what he's telling them is impossible, but every time he's told the truth. He's had more chances to lie than any kid in this school, but he hasn't taken the opportunity once. He's faced Voldemort several times and come out alive, and he saved Ginny Weasley's life his second year. I believe he's tired of getting his arse put on the line. The kid deserves a break, and no one's willing to give it to him. Harry didn't put his name in that goblet, and I wish someone would go ahead and bloody give him Veritaserum and sort all this out."

He seemed to mull this over. "Thanks, Katie."

"So?" I asked impatiently.

"So what?" he retorted, confused.

"So, are you going to wave your little wand there, and dig this bloody hole for me, or what?"

He laughed and did my bidding, then moved the fertilizer in and buried it.

"Thanks Cedric."

"Any time, Katie."

A thought occurred to me. "Hey, would you help me with Herbology?"

"Sorry, that's my worst class."

"Figures," I muttered. "See you later, then!"

.xXx.

(OotP, Katie's Sixth Year—letters to Oliver)

_My dearest Oliver,_

_Haha, I always wanted to start a letter like that. Anyway, I'm writing to make sure you're still alive, because the team's worried for your health. In other words, Angelina's maniacal Captain behavior is beginning to make us believe that you're dead and she's channeling your spirit or something. She didn't kill you and bury you under the Pitch, did she?_

_I got your last letter, and I'll be damned! First string in your second year of playing with the Pros? Congratulations Ol! Of course, not that I needed your letter to tell me, what with your face plastered across every Quidditch magazine known to wizard kind, but it was a nice touch. But before you do your annoying worrying thing about whether or not you deserve it (yes, I know that you're thinking you only got the spot because Greg quit) let me remind you that Greg had already thrown out his shoulder when Puddlemere hired you, and Manning knew that you'd be first string pretty soon. I can't tell you how proud I am! You're getting me tickets, right?_

_All joking aside, I have some scary shit to tell you, because this is possibly the last letter I'll be able to send to you with out worrying about having Cherry here frisked. Remember that Umbridge woman I was telling you about? Oliver, she's ruining the school! Pretty soon, all of our mail will be checked over, and she's keeping tabs on the fireplaces. Rumor has it she's going to try to overthrow Dumbledore. She's keeping the Slytherins as her little lap dogs, though. Worse that that, she's destroying our Quidditch team. I'm not kidding. She's got it in for Harry—one word of truth from him, and she's got him doing detention during practice. Angelina's fit to be tied with the both of them. And we all know what happens during those detentions—we've seen _scars_ on Harry's hand. _

_I'm scared, Oliver._

_Love,_

_Katie_

_Ps—don't forget what I said about the owls—I mean it. Don't send anything that isn't totally devoid of incriminating evidence. Just tell me how your days are going and what not. I need the cheering up—everyone here does._

.xXx.

(HBP—Katie's Seventh Year, the match where Harry gets knocked out and the team loses spectacularly because Ron's in the hospital and McLaggen's their Keeper. For my own purposes, Katie never grabbed that necklace, and therefore isn't in St. Mungo's, 'cos I want her in this game)

The team and I all fumed silently as we landed. The Pitch was almost silent. As one, we turned to McLaggen, who was dead white, and at the same time angry-looking.

"McLaggen," I said sweetly.

"Bell?" the troll asked hesitantly.

"Are you a fast runner?"

"Not particularly…" his face was crumpled—he couldn't see where I was going with this. Big surprise there.

"Good." I turned to the team. "Let's get him."

McLaggen bolted, all of us hot on his heels. We wanted blood. Lots and _lots_ of blood. Preferably his. Suddenly, someone grabbed the collar of my Quidditch robes, and I was pulled back as the team continued chasing McLaggen.

"Oi!" I protested, hauling around to smack whoever was holding me back. Instead, I was stunned by a familiarly handsome face and laughing chestnut eyes.

"Hello, Kates."

I squealed and flung myself at Oliver, hugging him tightly as he laughed. My gripe with McLaggen was instantly forgotten. "What are you doing here?" I demanded.

He grinned crookedly. "Well, Manning asked me to scout this year's graduating class at Hogwarts for any promising players. He said I was the best to do the job because I know school players' dynamics."

"You know, a better answer would have been, 'because Katie, darling, love of my life, I missed you so.' But, I guess I'll take your answer."

"Well Katie, darling, love of my life, I think you'll prefer the answer I'm _about_ to give you," he told me, raising his eyebrows temptingly.

"And why's that?"

"Because one of our Chasers is contemplating retiring to spend more time with his family, and honestly, none of our second string Chasers are really good enough to take on first string permanently. Manning knows this, of course, which is why he wanted someone who _really_ knew the Hogwarts Chasers," he said, looking carefully at me. I felt like I was missing something.

"So?"

He choked on his own laughter. "Are you serious?"

I glared at him, irritated. "Yes. What's your point?"

"The point _is,_ I'm here to find the best Lead Chaser Hogwarts has to offer, and I am 100 percent sure that that person is _you,_ Katie Bell," he said significantly, poking me in the chest. Wow, he narrowly missed my girls, there.

All I could do was blink. "Oliver, did you see that game, just now? You know, the one where we lost miserably and embarrassingly?"

He shook his head. "Come on, let's go get a drink. I already asked Dumbledore."

Sitting at the Three Broomsticks over warm Butterbeers, I continued to stare at my former and favorite Captain. "I still don't get it."

"Katie, this game was not an expression of _your_ skill. However, you and I have been playing Quidditch together since we got our first toy broomsticks and we'd fly around in our backyards, tossing apples to each other. You're smart, quick thinking, and a damn good flyer. We need you, simple as that."

I was about to reply, when a pretty young woman appeared at out table, wide eyed. "Excuse me, but aren't you Oliver Wood and Katie Bell?" she asked, her voice loud and excited. I cringed inwardly as everyone in the room looked at us. This was going to be interesting…

"No," Oliver said, calmly and matter-of-factly. His Scottish accent was muted almost to zilch. The girl looked staggered—she _knew_ he was Oliver Wood—that much I could tell.

"But—"

"Of course, he's almost as attractive as I am, but really, what's with that stupid voice of his?" he said haughtily.

Anger flared in the girl's eyes when he insulted his own Scottish brogue. Hell, _I_ was angry, and I knew it was an act! No one insults the Oliver Wood voice and gets away with it—not even Oliver Wood.

"Fine," she said in clipped tones. "I see that I was wrong." She turned and walked quickly away, everyone else turning to their companions.

I looked at Oliver, wide eyed, and he smirked his famous 'Oh, I just kicked someone's ass' smirk. (A/N: YOU KNOW THIS SMIRK!) "How did you do that?"

"A hell of a lot of practice," he assured me, his accent thankfully present once again. "And it's not easy, so I don't usually do it, but I wanted to be alone with you."

"Oh."

He shook himself briskly. "So, if you accept my offer, when you graduate, you'll go through a tryout process with the rest of the team, as well as an interview with Manning. You'll have to prove that you can get along with everyone…" he trailed off uneasily.

"Who wouldn't I get along with?" I asked curiously.

He winced. "Our Seeker. She… is hard to explain."

I crossed my arms. "What do you mean?"

"Have you ever seen a picture of her up close?"

"No."

"There you go. And she's a little—um—_fond_ of me," he admitted.

I laughed. "So you're Seeker's a crazed fan, is she?"

"Anyway, the rest of the team, you'll get along with fantastically, I think. When you're accepted,"—I didn't miss that he said _when_, not _if_—"you'll be second string until Nathan retires or someone gets hurt. Kapeesh?"

I propped my head up on my hands and gazed at him levelly. "Kates?" he asked.

"How long have you been waiting to use 'kapeesh' in normal conversation?"

"Katie!"

"I'll do it," I amended quickly. "But only for you."

He snorted. "And would you jump off a bridge if I asked you to?"

"If you did it, too." This seems to be the story of my life. Oliver drags me into all sorts of stuff, even if it's not directly.

He grinned and raised his Butterbeer, and we clinked the glasses together. "To our future." It sounded so promising.

It must be the accent.


	3. Puddlemere

Disclaimer: So, you know, I'm in FFA and everything, but I've always shown market goats. This year my ag teacher got me to buy a lamb, and Mum's freaking out about it because most ag teachers are fond of the saying "Lambs are born looking for a way to die" because they're fragile crap… four hundred and fifty dollars of fragile crap. So while I was in Arkansas, my ag teacher called to talk to me about registering my lamb and one of my goats. Eventually, I hung up and went to find my mum.

Me: Hey Mum, Mr. Gravell called!

Mum: OH MY GOD, YOUR LAMB DIED!

So, that's my disclaimer for this episode.

I hummed tunelessly as I unpacked the boxes and bags, setting every article just right before I moved on to the next. I must say, Oliver is quite possibly my favorite person in the world.

_FLASHBACK_

"_What are you doing, Katie?" Oliver asked, flopping over the back of the couch. I was sitting in my parents' living room, looking through wizarding occupancy articles. I needed a place to stay, and I wasn't loaded, so a roommate was my best bet._

"_Looking for a place to live, so I can stop bumming off my parents, now that I've graduated," I told him, amused._

_He looked at me upside down, cocking an eyebrow. "Stay with me, then."_

_I couldn't help but stare at him. The idea was so simple, so frank, so… obvious. He was my best mate, and he was living in a nice, two-bedroom flat that his ridiculous Quidditch salary was paying for. "Now, why didn't I think of that?"_

"_There's a reason I was Captain in Hogwarts, Bell," he said, grinning cheekily._

_I smacked him with a decorative pillow. "MUM! DAD! BLAKE!" I yelled._

_My respective family members entered the room. My older brother, Blake, was visiting for a week, taking a break off of his job at St. Mungo's. I will readily admit that he's a better person than I am. "What, dear?" my mother asked._

"_Ol here just provided the perfect solution to my rooming issue!"_

_My dad grinned at Oliver—he'd always been fond of him because Oliver looked out for me as much as I did for him. "And what's that?"_

"_Katie should room with me," he suggested. "I'm already covering the flat expenses, and it's not like I'm using the spare room. It makes sense."_

"_Wicked," Blake said, high-fiving Oliver. The two of them have always had a guy thing. Go figure._

"_Well, that's a perfect idea!" Mum squealed, clapping her hands together. "Ollie, why don't you run over and ask your parents to join us for dinner tonight so we can discuss it further?"_

"_Yes, ma'am," he said meekly._

"_Yeah, Ollie!" Blake and I called together, bursting into childish giggles. He turned and made a face at us, making us laugh even harder._

_Really, Oliver is my best friend._

_END FLASHBACK_

I started singing one of the Weird Sisters' newest songs, too loudly and scarily out of tune. I never claimed to have a decent voice, and I am completely okay with that. I heard the flat door open and close, signaling Oliver's arrival home. He caught on to the song, and was instantly singing along with me, his normally gorgeous singing voice distorted painfully by the volume.

I put a lamp down on my desk and met him in the kitchen, still singing. He grinned infectiously and caught my hands, leading me in a ridiculous dance. In other words, we were making complete fools of ourselves. On the last note of the song, he dipped me backwards, both of us giggling like children. However, he went too far, and we both fell to the floor with a loud _thump,_ Oliver on top of me. That made us laugh even harder, clutching at each other for support.

I looked up into his insanely amused chestnut eyes. "Welcome home, Oliver," I teased.

"It's good to be here," he said seriously, as if making a speech for reporters. "I'd like to thank my best mate, Katie Bell, for my appearance here tonight. She's my backbone, even if she is a total spaz who can't sing for beans—"

In pretended outrage, I cut him off in the most effective way possible. And no, I didn't kiss him, you sick freaks. I launched a full-fledged tickle war. Choking on his laughter, Oliver rolled into a defensive ball, trying to keep his ribs from reach. I am possibly the only human on the face of the planet that knows that his ribs are the most ticklish part of his body.

"I WILL GET YOU, KATIE BELL!" he shouted, lunging at me. I shrieked as he tackled me to the floor, tickling me furiously. I tried to get away, but he had me effectively pinned beneath him as he attacked me.

Then I realized something. "EEEEEEW!" I squealed, squirming away. "You smell!" The scent of sweaty Quidditch player is much more pleasant when everyone smells that way. One boy carrying that scent in a spotlessly clean apartment is… nasty.

Oliver let out a bark of laughter. "How charming, Katie."

I wrinkled my nose, still trying to get out from under him. "You know, the smell of over-worked Quidditch player isn't exactly the eau d'amour."

"You wound me!" he exclaimed dramatically, clutching at his heart. Prat was still lying on top of me. I managed to reach down and pull one of my flip flops off, then smack him on the side of the head with it. "OW! Hey, that one really did hurt!" he whined. He pouted at me, and I smiled innocently.

"What?"

"Ka-tie!"

I rolled my eyes. "You giant git. If you get off of me and go shower, I'll make you brownies from scratch."

"Whoo-hoo!"

Boys. Can't live with 'em, be on the streets without 'em.

"So," Oliver said as he cleaned the batter bowl for me. And when I say 'clean,' I mean scraped all the batter out with a spoon and ate it.

"What did you do?" I asked instantly.

He winced. "How do you _always_ know?"

I shrugged. "ESP."

"Well, you should know… you're meeting Manning for brunch tomorrow morning for your interview, then later in the afternoon, I'll take you for physical tryouts."

I stared at him for a long moment, then decided that he was joking. "That's not funny, Wood." He gave a half-hearted, sheepish smile, and my jaw dropped. "You're serious?" I squeaked.

He nodded. "For the interview with Manning, wear something nice… like that pretty blue summer dress you just bought. Look cute, but not over the top, or he'll probably think you're too girly to stand up for long."

I blinked. "You're not coming with me?" My voice sounded strangled.

He smiled wryly. "I'm you're best friend. He wouldn't want me giving you cues or something to help you along, now would he?"

I groaned and put my head in my hands. "Oliver, I'm going to kill you."

He laughed. "Don't worry. Even if you somehow flub the interview, you can more than make up for it on the pitch. I have faith in you, Bell."

I looked up and held his gaze as the oven timer went off. I snorted. "You just have faith in my brownies." I pulled them out of the oven, and we immediately dug in with forks, cooling the burn of the hot brownies with hasty gulps of milk.

After a moment, Oliver reached across the island and touched the back of my hand. Startled, I looked up at him, and his eyes were serious. "I mean it, Kates. Trust me; you'll do fine."

.xXx.

My white heels clicking on the tile floor, I staggered into the flat and carefully sat down next to Oliver, taking care to smooth my dress out. I dropped my white purse on the floor next to me. Oliver carefully cleared his throat.

"Katie, you look like you've seen your death."

I turned my wide green eyes to him, impatiently raking my long hair back from my face with my fingers once again. "Oh my god."

He looked worried. "Didn't it go well?"

I blinked at him, which I must admit is quite an irritating habit of mine. "It was… perfect."

He did a double take. "W-huh?"

I leaned back against the cushy leather couch. "It was as if the Quidditch Gods possessed me or something, and made me answer all of his questions perfectly and fully. I joked with him! Oliver, I made Clayton Manning, manager and coach of Puddlemere United _laugh!_ And then do you know what he said?" Dumbstruck, Oliver shook his head. "He said he'd have to thank you for picking me out, and he _couldn't wait to see me on the Pitch!"_

Quickly over the shock, Oliver smirked at me. "Told you."

.xXx.

I stared dumbly at the team in front of me. Oliver stood at my side, a solid, reassuring presence. The players were all ogling me like a sideshow freak.

"All right, team," Manning said briskly. "This is Katie Bell, the girl I was telling you about." Their narrow-eyed expressions changed, and they all seemed to reassess me.

"Katie, as in _your_ Katie, Oliver?" one of the huge Beaters asked.

Oliver turned bright red. "Yes, that Katie."

The mood softened instantly. The Beater gamboled forward to sweep me into a crushing hug. "Well, our Keeper's mate is our mate," he assured me jovially. "I'm Mac Jones."

I grinned, having heard quite a bit about Big Mac. "Pleased to meet you," I assured him. The dark haired, heavy-browed Beater was a laugh, as far as I'd heard.

"Jagger Brick—Jag," smiled the other Beater. He was almost as tall as Mac, only less bulky. Oliver had assured me that they were a dynamic duo in the air.

I shook his hand, winking at him. He laughed.

"Dacian Mentose, but I go by Dace, mostly. I'm the right wing Chaser," introduced a tall, well-built man with black hair and brown eyes.

"Hello," I said, grinning.

"Elvin Founder, left wing Chaser," said the last male player. He had shockingly white-blonde hair and dark blue eyes. He was shy, and I didn't even need Oliver to tell me that much.

"Nice to meet you."

"And I," a feminine voice announced, "am Raelyn Scarze."

I turned to face the Seeker, and my stomach dropped to my feet. And Oliver had worried about _me_ looking too girly? The striking girl was no taller than five foot, with an hourglass figure and perfect blonde curls. Sapphire eyes lit up her heart-shaped face and delicate nose, down to her full mouth. She had small, delicate hands, and feet that looked like she was easily wearing size 5 shoes. I inwardly groaned. Great, so the worshiper Oliver so casually referred to was… perfect. She smiled charmingly at me.

"But of course you can call me Rae. It will be _so_ nice to finally have some more estrogen on this team!" Fantastic. I can't even dislike her.

I cocked my head to look at her. "Doesn't anyone want to see me try out first?"

Manning grinned sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, when Nathan heard that we were considering you as his replacement, he told me that he refused to leave his position in the hands of anyone else."

"He scouted me," Oliver said. "So he's seen you play. He's quite assured that you'll be perfect for the team."

"Where is he?" I asked, looking around.

Mac gave a bark of laughter. "At the hospital. His wife's in the middle of number six."

Oliver snorted. "When are those two going to stop shagging like rabbits?" Apparently this was an ongoing joke, because the whole team howled with laughter.

"Well," Manning continued, turning to me. "Everyone dress out, then. I want to see you on you all in the air in ten minutes!"

Ah. Quidditch.


	4. Dearly in Need of a Publicist

Disclaimer: So I'm sitting here on my couch, typing on my laptop, and I was like, 'damn, where are my CDs?' I discovered that they were over by my stereo. Guess what? I didn't feel like getting up. So then I thought 'Urgh, I wish I were a witch! Then I'd just be like _Accio CDs!_ and they'd all come flying to me and I could pop them in my lappy and listen to them.' Then I realized that I was only sixteen anyway, so it didn't matter, and I was kinda depressed that I ruined my own daydream. If I were Jo, then I could simply pay someone to go get my CDs for me! The moral? I'm not Jo.

"BELL!"

I groaned, running a brush through my hair as I stumbled out of my closet, still pulling clothes on. It was four-thirty. In the morning. "What?" I demanded, yanking a sweatshirt over my head.

"Why is the laundry filled with all of these little socks? They look like they belong to a ten year old!" I rounded the corner to our laundry room, pulling a sweatshirt on. Oliver, looking quite perplexed, was leaning over a basket of clean and dried laundry, hunting for something. And yes, the basket was full of ankle socks.

I rolled my eyes. "Ol, those are mine."

He looked even more perplexed. "But they're midget-ish!"

"They're ankle socks," I explained.

"Oh… why would anyone want ankle socks?" I just looked at him. "Well, why are they all different colors?"

True to tale, not a single one of the socks looked the same as another. I shrugged sheepishly. "It's sort of my curse. I always lose one sock in a pair."

"But then they're mismatched."

This boy is sometimes more OCD than anyone has any right to be. "Trust me—I've gotten used to it."

"Well, why don't you just buy a whole bunch of white socks or something? Then it wouldn't matter."

"Oliver, what were you looking for?"

He blinked, as if he'd forgotten that he was actually looking for something. Knowing him, he probably had. "My white shirt." I gave him a level stare. "The one with that design on it."

That's my boy. Unless they have to do with Quidditch, he has _no_ idea what his clothes look like. But heaven forbid you lose a glove.

But what's really pathetic is that I knew _exactly_ which shirt he was talking about.

"Oh, that one," I said dismissively. "I'm wearing it."

He made a face. "Kates!"

I laughed and tossed a black shirt at him. "Wear that! Now come on, or we'll be late."

Oliver and I collapsed on the couch together later that day. I'd been practicing with the team for several months, and I remembered why I had hated Oliver's captaining in Hogwarts. Manning is almost as bad, but he doesn't have the 'scary-manic-obsessed' complex. More like the 'argh-we-must-win' complex. And I was only working as a reserve! But let me tell you, my mother used to say that reading is a great way to expand your vocabulary. Apparently she's never been to 5 a.m. Quidditch practice with a professional team. Trust me, they've expanded my vocabulary _way_ more than my potions textbook ever did.

"So," Oliver said.

"So what?" I groaned, lacking the energy to fling my arm out sideways and smack him.

"Doesn't smell nearly as bad when you smell like it, too, does it?" he teased.

I simply rolled my eyes and snorted. Boys. "That doesn't mean it's pleasant. I'm just waiting to regain the energy to get up and shower."

"Sure you are, Bell. Sure you are."

.xXx.

The next morning—Saturday! Thank you god!—I trudged out into the kitchen and found a note on the table. It was from Oliver, of course.

_Kates,_

_I'm grocery shopping so you can have breakfast when you wake up. Why is it that we never seem to have food?_

_Ol_

I smiled, then an owl flew in the window with the Daily Prophet. I paid it and flipped open to the Sports Section. Scanning it, I stopped at an article. My eyes widened as I read it carefully.

_We all know Puddlemere Chaser Nathan Kael has been planning retirement to spend time with his wife and children. It is also no secret that Puddlemere has adopted a new reserve Chaser—seventeen year old Katie Bell. However, what is Katie Bell to the team?_

_This reporter may have the answer you are looking for._

_After a little research, it turns out that Bell is the shoo-in replacement for Kael when he retires. She is no doubt an excellent Chaser, and anyone who has seen her perform will agree to this. But is that really what got her on the team? It turns out that Bell is quite chummy with one of Quidditch's most eligible bachelors—Puddlemere's star Keeper, Oliver Wood. They share an apartment near Puddlemere's pitch, and are hardly seen one without the other. Is it more than friendship?_

_When questioned about the girl and their arrangement, twenty year old Wood claims to have no comment. However, it is noted that when the subject is pushed, Wood becomes quite angry and defensive. Is love in the air for the Keeper, or did Bell sleep her way onto the team? Stay informed!_

Disgusted, I threw the paper down on the table. I was furious! I wanted to protest the misogynistic article! I wanted to… to parade around without my bra screaming 'screw the world!' Caught up in the moment, I leapt out of my chair, ripped my tee-shirt off and unclasped my bra, throwing it to the floor.

"Take that, society!" I shouted.

"Um, Katie, what are you doing?" asked a slightly-amused-scarily-shocked Scottish voice behind me.

Startled, my first reaction was—of course—to whirl around. Oliver, bless him, was standing there in the doorway with his hand over his eyes, which he had presumably done the moment he saw my bare back, blushing crimson.

"Oh, Oliver, it's just you," I said gratefully. I picked my bra up and clasped it, pulling the straps on. "It's safe to look," I assured him as I bent to grab my shirt.

He sighed and put his hand down. "Katie!" His hand flew to his face again.

I rolled my eyes. "Oliver, it's a bra, chill. There, I have my shirt on. Happy?"

"Yes." He picked up the grocery bags he had dropped and set them on the table. He sat down in a chair. "So… do I want to know why you were stripping in our kitchen?"

I threw the article at him. He read it and snorted, but he was scowling. "Nice. Trust me, this won't be the last one, though. You'll have to get used to it—don't let it get under your skin, because I might have to kick you out or something if you rip off your bra every time someone prints a poor article about you."

"Oliver! They're saying I'm easy, just because we live together!"

He raised an eyebrow at me. "Well to their eyes, I'm sure it looks suspicious. I mean, we _do_ live together, and now you're on the team… and you have a habit of stripping when you get annoyed."

I stuck my tongue out at him. "You say that like it's a widely-known trait."

"You'd just better hope that you're not bare-chested on the front page tomorrow. You were standing in front of a window."

I stared at him. "Are you serious?"

He laughed at me. "I'm kidding, Kates. Just relax. They're going to print crap about you for a while until you prove that you're worthy of my presence or something."

"_Your_ presence?"

"I am one of Quidditch's most eligible bachelors, you know," he teased.

I chucked a box of cereal at him. "Shut up."

.xXx.

I jolted into awareness, gasping quietly. I hate nightmares. Positively buzzing with energy, I got up and changed out of my sweat-soaked pajamas. Wearing pajama shorts, I grabbed a light jumper and yanked the zipper up. Then I sat down on my cushy chair. After a moment of staring into darkness, I realized that the flat was too still. Oliver doesn't snore, but as an unspoken rule we keep our doors open at night, and I can hear his breathing when he's asleep.

"Wood," I called, glad that he had soundproofed the flat parameter when he first moved in. Not that I was all that loud, or that it was a muggle complex, no, that wasn't the concern. The concern was that it was a building full of witches and wizards, and I'm willing to bet that our darling magical kind know more hexes than muggles, and are willing to use them if inadvertently woken up in the middle of the night. Or worse, they'd find out that the flat belonged to Oliver Wood and Katie Bell, and the two of us would be up all night signing autographs.

"Yeah," he replied.

"Can I sleep with you?"

"You aren't the first girl to ask."

"Funny, Oliver."

"Fine. But you have to promise to do something for me," was his answer.

"Tell me what it is, first," I retorted.

"No, promise you'll do it first!"

"Oliver, we decided never to do that promise thing after that one time you—"

"All right, all right! You swore never to bring that up again!"

"You started it," I muttered, but I knew he could here me.

"Will you bring me a glass of water?"

"You're joking."

He sighed theatrically. "All right, come here Bell."

I bounded out of my room, then carefully crossed the apartment to his room, swearing when I ran into the coffee table, then again when I hit the wall. I could see his dim outline from his digital alarm clock. He turned on a softly-lit lamp when he saw me in his doorway, then coughed into his fist.

"What?" I asked, my eyebrows drawing together.

"Get dressed in the dark, Katie?"

Frowning, I looked down at myself and blushed. I had only gotten my jumper zipper up halfway. It wasn't falling open or anything, but the tan line from my swimsuit was visible. "Yes, actually," I said, pulling the zipper up to a more respectable height. "And what's with the lamp?"

He grinned as I slid in bed next to him, then leaned over to turn the light off again. "I know how graceful you are in the dark, and figured I didn't want my dresser to take you out or something.

"Oh, ha ha," I said sarcastically, settling back against his pillows. Thank god we both have huge beds. "So why can't you sleep?"

"I'm not sure," he said in an odd voice. "What about you?"

"Nightmare," I told him.

"About what?"

I shrugged noncommittally, although I could still hear his pained scream ringing in my ears. That wasn't one I was eager to share with him. He put his arm around me and pulled me against his side.

"Don't worry, Kates. I'll always be here for you—I promise."

"I know," I whispered; that was what had scared me so deeply about my dream. Oliver had always been there for me—would always be there for me—and it was terrifying to think that he wouldn't be. "Love you, Ol," I said sleepily, tucking myself more comfortably against his side.

"Love you too, Kates."

The last thing I heard was his Scottish voice, singing quietly in my ear. _This_ is why I come to Oliver when I'm scared. He knows how to take care of me.

I woke with the sun, as always. I blinked, looking around the room that was clearly not mine. However, I was used to waking up in Oliver's room, so it didn't confuse me. My nostrils flared, smelling eggs and bacon. I threw off the heavy duvet and fairly raced to the kitchen.

"Morning Ol," I said brightly, planting myself down at the kitchen table and helping myself to a piece of toast.

He laughed and divided the eggs he was cooking between two plates, then came to sit down with me. I dug in to the food. "Good lord, Katie, what do you eat when I'm traveling for games?"

I looked up at him, swallowing my mouthful. "Do you really want to know?" He nodded. "Bread, mostly." He looked completely scandalized. "I do have Lucky Charms for breakfast," I added quickly. However, this only seemed to make it worse.

"Katie, can't you even make toast?" he sputtered.

I grimaced. "Actually, no. Remember that time—"

He cut me off with a shudder, running a hand through his wet hair, which caused it to stick up in every direction. "Right, don't remind me." Needless to say, I visited for Christmas my fifth year. Nearly burned down his flat.

"So… what shall we do today?" he mused.

"Hmm, what did we do yesterday?"

"Sat around in our pajamas and watched insanely old movies," he answered.

"Well, that sounds like an absolutely spiffing idea to me!"

Oliver rolled his eyes. "Bell, get dressed. I want to go out."

I crossed my arms over my chest. "Two days a week I'm free from the madman who is our Quidditch coach, and you want me to spend it on my feet?" He raised his eyebrows at me. "Fine." I shoved a last piece of toast into my mouth and left to go take a shower.

When I was ready to leave, I found Oliver in the kitchen, reading through the Daily Prophet. I winced. "Anything strip-worthy in there?"

"Not today," he said casually, tossing the paper to the table. "You ready?"

I gestured at my clean, clothed body and my dry hair. "What do you think?"

He grinned cheekily. "Yeah, well you never know with you women."

I smacked him upside the head. "Really, Oliver, you're just _so_ charming sometimes."

"Really, now?" he growled playfully. I screamed as he picked me up and threw me over his shoulder.

"You caveman!" Laughing, he finally set me down. "It's not every girl's dream to be in your arms," I teased.

"You're cheeky," he informed me.

"You're Scottish," I replied instantly.

Oliver threw his hands in the air. "What is it always with the Scottish jokes?"

"Would you prefer Wood jokes?"

"No, not really. But what about Bell jokes, ding dong?" Hahaha, get it? Bell, ding dong! That's sooo funny! Not. Damn you, Gred and Forge!

I childishly stuck my tongue out at my Captain. "Blackmail is the lowest form of communication, you know."

"But that's okay, because we can talk, too."

"Scottish prat."

"Hogwarts Belle."

"Insane Keeper."

"Mad Chaser." We both stopped there. "You know, I don't really feel like we're getting anywhere with this, do you?"

I grinned. "Nope. So, where are we going, my dear Keeper?"

"Well, I was thinking of a little Apparation to Hogsmeade. I'd love to go to the Three Broomsticks for a while, wouldn't you?" I froze. The pool. I couldn't just walk in there with Oliver, could I? I mean, of course the pool isn't _still_ going, but the last thing we need is for it to be brought back. His voice broke through my daymare. "Katie? What's wrong with the Three Broomsticks?"

I turned an eye-smarting shade of red. "Um, did I ever tell you about the pool?"

He cocked his head to the side. "What pool?"

"Fifth year, someone started a pool about when we'd… get together… at the Three Broomsticks," I managed to squeak out.

Oliver stared at me for precisely sixteen seconds before tossing his head back and laughing. "Well, then let's give them a show!"

Oh god, I hate Oliver Wood.

Oliver was holding my hand tightly when we entered the 'Broomsticks. It was totally my luck—Hogsmeade day. Let's just say we turned a few heads.

"Hello, Rosie," Oliver greeted the owner brightly.

She grinned. "Oliver! Katie! What's this?"

"What does it look like?" he teased, pulling me closer and putting his arms around me. Bloody Oliver.

Rosmerta gave him a sly look. "And since when has this been going on?"

I choked, and Oliver looked staggered. "Tell me that pool's not _still_ up?" I demanded.

"Yes, actually, it is. So, give me the results!"

Oliver glanced down at me before answering. I'm sure I was an unnatural shade of white. He tightened his arms around me. "Just about a week or so," he assured her airily.

Rosmerta clapped her hands together with glee. "Everyone!" she called. Oh bugger. "Everyone, I would like to announce that Oliver Wood and Katie Bell are now _together,_ as of a week ago. If you have any winnings in the pot, come and collect them!"

Both Oliver and I cowered down. "Did you have to do that?" he asked.

"Well, as the subjects, you each _do_ get a share of the goods."

"Oh," I said, and we both straightened. "Well that changes things."

We left the 'Broomsticks several hours later, our pockets a little heavier from the pool, our hearts a little lighter from catching up with old friends. We had just exited Honeydukes when I froze.

"Oliver?" I squeaked.

His brow furrowed. "What, Kates?"

"This is _so_ going to wind up on the front page of the Prophet."

The blood drained from his face.

Oliver insisted that I wear a double layer of clothing while we thoroughly combed the paper the next morning. I almost fainted with relief when found nothing about our personal lives. Quietly thankful to God, we hurried out for practice. After practice, we learned that Manning was God. Well… sorta.

We all stumbled down to the locker rooms, and I was chatting with Rae about broomsticks when Manning interrupted us.

"Wood, Bell, my office—now."

Confused, Oliver and I changed directions and entered Manning's office, which was next to the locker rooms. We nervously sat down in the two chairs in front of his desk.

"Yes sir?" we chorused.

Manning surveyed us darkly from under his craggy brows. "Wood, are you an _idiot?"_

"Er, excuse me, sir?"

"Here you are, a highly publicized professional Quidditch player, with galleons pouring out your ears, and you DON'T HAVE THE INTELLIGENCE TO HIRE A PUBLICIST?"

"Sorry, sir?" he asked, nervous.

Manning's face was turning steadily purple. "I have had to cover the mouths of fifteen reporters since yesterday—all wanting news on you and Bell, after your little _escapade_ yesterday." He tossed a packet across the desk, which I picked up and opened. It was full of pictures of me and Oliver, obviously taken by different reporters. I gulped. "It's bad enough that they feast on the fact that you two _live_ together, why would you go and do something like that?" he demanded.

"Old times and old revenge?" I offered.

Manning thwacked Oliver on the side of his head with a rolled up newspaper, then did me for good measure. "Get out of here, go shower—you both smell like a heard of sweaty hippogriffs—then go hire a publicist. You're going to need one. Go!"

We scrambled out of the office and to the locker rooms, where we stared at each other for a moment before falling against the walls and sliding to the floor, dissolving into hysterical laughter. Then I grabbed my dark blue Puddlemere duffle bag and went to the girls' showers. I could hear Rae singing loudly, off pitch, and I joined her just for fun.

"Hey!" she called over the stall. "What did Manning want?"

I laughed. "To scold Oliver for not having a publicist."

"What did that have to do with you?"

"Well, yesterday we went to Hogsmeade and pretended to be a couple so we could settle a nearly four-year pool at the Three Broomsticks. Apparently Manning's been overrun."

Rae burst into laughter. "Hey, Katie?"

"Yeah?" Somehow, I didn't like the conversation that tone of voice was heading for.

"How could I get Oliver to _like_ me? I mean, he hardly spares me a glance."

I know you're probably thinking, 'oh, but Katie likes Rae, so she'll probably give her some worldly advice, like _just be yourself,_ and help them get together'. No. I may like Rae, but that doesn't mean I want to hear her moaning and screaming from Oliver's room late at night. Not that I'm calling either one of them whores, but Oliver _is_ a male.

"I don't know," I answered, pausing to rinse the shampoo out of my hair. "It's hard to tell with him, I mean, he's never dated all that much. Quidditch has always been his first love—beyond that, he doesn't really notice people all that much.

"But what about you?"

Ah, the million galleon question. "Oliver and I have always been together," I answered truthfully. "Our parents are best friends, so we've been best friends since I was born. I don't remember a time in my life without Oliver, and he's used to having me around. Other than that, he simply just doesn't relate to people all that well."

"So he's more of a loner," she simplified. She made it sound like it was a dark, mysterious, and attractive trait.

"Yeah, it's quite annoying."

"Really?" Ray's voice was startled. Told you she was thinking mysterious. She turned her shower off.

I laughed. "Trust me. I love Oliver, but I'm the one who's had to listen to all of his woes over the years when he accidentally chases someone off. Our whole Quidditch team thought he was positively barmy, poor lad."

She was quiet for a minute, and I rinsed out my conditioner. "He loves you too, you know." Well, I knew that, but it always felt good to hear it. I grinned to myself. "While you were in Hogwarts, you were all he ever talked about, like you were his only friend in the world." Her voice was sort of forlorn.

I turned the water off and wrapped a towel around myself, exiting the shower. "Rae, I told you—he doesn't relate well to people. I nearly _am_ his only friend in the world. He wasn't close with anyone in his own year, and the only people who could put up with him most of the time were our Quidditch team, and they were all just a year older than I was, except for our Seeker, of course."

"You'd think he was socially retarded or something!" she mused.

I coughed delicately. "Actually, I'm pretty sure he _is_ socially retarded." We giggled to each other. Suddenly, someone entered our shower room, holding a hand courteously in front of their eyes. "Oliver, what are you doing?"

"Telling you that you'd better hurry your ass up or I'm going to leave you!"

"No, Oliver," I said dramatically. "You can't leave me! I don't want to be all alone in the world—my heart couldn't take it!"

"You're cheeky."

"You're Scottish!"

I could sense him rolling his eyes. "Hurry up, Bell."

He left, and Rae shook her head at me. "I love watching you two together. It's so funny how comfortable you are teasing each other."

I shrugged, pulling on a navy blue tank top. In light blue, it had _Puddlemere United_ across the front, with my last name and my number on the back. I love Puddlemere merchandise. Actually, I love Puddlemere merchandise that has my name on it. Over that and a pair of jeans, I wore matching navy robes. I left the robes open and dried my hair.

"So, Friday night, we should all go out to that new wizards' club and show them how to really party," Rae suggested.

I frowned. "Silver Moon? But I heard it's killer to get in to."

She just laughed at me. "Katie, you're a Quidditch player, now!"

"A reserve Quidditch player," I reminded her.

She snorted. "A reserve Quidditch player who's likely going to be Lead Chaser of Puddlemere United before the end of the season!"

"Oh."

"Tell Oliver—we'll meet here ten o'clock Friday night. Trust me, Bell. It'll be a blast."

Remind me to force Oliver's hand on the publicist thing. All we need is for the reporters to get a load of us clubbing together and not have a human shield.

Oh bugger.


	5. My Name is NOT Eric!

Disclaimer: Okay, so here I am, unloading the dishwasher, putting the silverware away. You know, when you put forks on top of each other, they cup the other perfectly. Remember, I am an immature sixteen year old girl who spends _way_ too much time with immature sixteen year old boys.

Me: HAHAHAHAHA! The forks are spooning!

Which took me back to a band camp flashback from last year.

Daniel: (threatening Brian with a fork) SHUT UP, OR I'LL FORK YOU TO DEATH!

Everyone: (silence)

Daniel: MAN THAT WAS LOUD!

Jo's not that immature.

A/N: Okay, here's the lineup:

Big Mac Jones/Jag Brick—Beaters

Dace Mentose/Elvin Founder—Chasers

Rae Scarze—Seeker

Nathan is staying home with his family, of course.

I chucked my purse at Oliver, who was wolf-whistling at me. Damn Keeper—he caught it. I was in a shimmery silver-blue halter and too-long jeans with tall heels, which were going to be killing my feet by the end of the night. Oliver was dressed in dark jeans with a dark blue shirt. Being on Puddlemere has really affected our wardrobes. I raked my hair back from my face and held my hand out for my purse, which he gave to me.

"Shall we, Oliver dearest?" I asked haughtily.

"We shall, my darling Bell," he answered, bowing to me and offering me his arm. I placed my hand on him and we Apparated together. Out on the Pitch, we found almost everyone there already. They were all wearing some shade of blue. We're so original. We were just waiting for Dacian and Elvin. The boys cat-called at Oliver and me, but it made me feel accepted. Rae and I hooked up and complimented each other on our outfits. Bloody five-foot supermodel and her perfect hair. A couple of minutes later, Dace appeared, literally dragging Elvin along, having forced him into a side-along Apparation.

"Dace, I don't want to," Elvin was complaining quietly.

"Come on, Vinnie," I said brightly, bouncing over and throwing my arm around Elvin's neck. "It'll be a blast!"

He blushed crimson. "Bell, don't touch me."

I laughed and didn't let go. "Vinnie, you need to loosen up." Everyone laughed.

"Don't call me Vinnie."

Jagger rolled his eyes. "Come on guys, let's go."

We all Apparated near the club, and walked up as a group. There was a huge line, but we walked right past it. "Hey!" one girl called. "What do you think you're doing?"

We turned to her as one—hey we can't help it; it's a team complex—and she instantly shut her trap. Haha, we're the Puddlemere United Quidditch team, and no one can do anything about it! Er, right. The bouncer took one look at us and unclipped the velvet rope. Inside the club, lights flashed in the dark, and music blared. First thing, we went to the bar.

"Hey, a round of shots for the team!" Mac shouted over the music. The bar tender immediately provided us a row of shots, and we lifted the small glasses. "To the team!"

"To the girls!" Dace teased.

"To the guys!" Rae retorted.

"To getting smashed off our arses!" was Jag's contribution.

"To Quidditch!" Oliver shouted.

"To us!" I finished, knowing Elvin wasn't going to say anything.

We clinked our drinks together and tossed the Firewhiskey down, slamming the glasses onto the counter as one. "Now," Rae said wickedly. "Let's dance."

.xXx.

I slowly picked up my heavy head and looked around. Then I groaned. The only thing I hate more than hangovers is Slytherins. And losing. And… oh, never mind. I should also point out that this is definitely not my apartment. I carefully sat up on the couch I was sprawled across. Rae was deeply asleep in a cushy armchair, as was Dace. Big Mac was asleep on another couch, his upper body hanging off precariously. Jag was simply lying on the floor. There was a dent at the edge of the couch I was sleeping on, as if someone had slept next to me. I heard low voices, so I stood stiffly and followed them.

Oliver and Elvin were in the kitchen, Oliver cooking with his back to me, and Elvin standing over a cauldron.

"Hello, Katie," Oliver said, without looking up at me.

"How'd you know?" I asked, collapsing into a chair. The smell of the food was nauseating.

"I know your footsteps."

Elvin poured me a glass of whatever was in the cauldron. "Drink this," he ordered. "You'll feel better." I warily took the glass and chugged the contents. For a moment, my head screamed and my stomach surged, then everything settled, leaving me feeling a little better.

I glanced at Elvin. "I take it this happens often?" He nodded.

"I had to go back to the flat," Oliver told me, and I noted that he was wearing fresh clothes. "The phone was ringing off the hook. I thought Alicia—" Yes, Alicia is our publicist, bless her. "—was going to have an aneurysm. Fortunately, I think she's got everything settled down."

"Why is it such a big deal?" I demanded, rubbing my temples.

He turned to face me. "Katie, you went clubbing with the team. That's pretty much huge acceptance-slash-gossip, right there. Besides, you looked hot doing it, apparently."

I rolled my eyes, looking down at myself. My clubbing outfit was clinging to me like a very uncomfortable second skin. I made a face. "Well, I think I'm going to run and get some decent clothes, if it's all the same to you."

Oliver grabbed my arm as I stood. "Friends don't let friends Apparate with hangovers," he teased. "I brought you some clothes; they're in the bathroom. Now go take a shower, then come out here and eat something."

"Thanks Ol," I sad, giving him a quick hug. In the bathroom, I found a pair of pajama pants and a Puddlemere jumper. I know, I'm like a freaking walking billboard. I took a good shower, washing my lank hair and whatnot. I pulled my wand out of the special pocket I had in my jeans and charmed my hair dry, got dressed, and went out to face the world. By now, the others were up, and Elvin was dishing out the hangover brew like it was the nectar of life. Which, you know, it sort of is, come to think of it. I've gotta get the recipe from him.

"So, how is everyone this morning?" I asked conversationally, accepting a plate of food from Oliver. The answer was moans and groans. Rae's makeup was smeared down her face, just like mine had been.

"Does everyone usually crash here when you all go clubbing?" I asked Elvin.

He nodded. "Usually I'm the only one sober enough to _suggest_ Apparating anywhere, let alone Apparate. So pretty much I have to side-along Apparate the team one at a time."

"Wow. You're a nice kid, Vinnie."

He turned pink. "I'm not a kid, and stop calling me Vinnie."

"Come on, everyone else has a nickname! There's Big Mac, Jag, Dace, Rae, and Ol!"

He turned a sly smile to my face. "And you?"

"Um, Katie, duh," I said, rolling my eyes.

"What's your full name?"

Now I turned scarlet. Oliver snorted. "Her full name _is_ Katie."

Elvin smirked. "Then it doesn't count as a nickname."

"I don't have a nickname." Please don't, Oliver. _Please_ don't…

"I call her Kates, but if I catch that name on _your_ lips, Founder, I might have to kill you." Oh, well that wasn't so bad. The last thing I want is Elvin calling me Kates.

"That's not fair!" Elvin protested.

I smirked. "Then we'll make it fair. I'm the only one who can call you Vinnie, okay?"

He scowled. "Don't call me Vinnie."

"It could be worse."

"How?" he demanded.

"Well," I mused. "I could have called you Elvie, which would have progressed to El, which could have changed to Elephant, which would have morphed to Phant, and from there, Phantom, which would have brought to mind Phantom of the Opera, and from there I might have called you Eric, which was the name of the Phantom. So I'd go around calling you Eric, and no one would know why." (A/N: I actually had this train of thought, and the whole thing took about two and a half seconds. I was like 'ooh, El, Eric!' Yeah.)

He exchanged a glance with Oliver. "Is she always like this?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"How do you _live _with her?"

Chuckling, Oliver reached over and pulled me against his side. "I don't know, I kind of like it."

I pretended to be offended. _"Kind of?"_

He grinned. "Okay, I love it, because it makes me feel better about myself."

I lightly smacked my shoulder. "Come on, we should stop imposing on Eric's hospitality and get out of his hair. Thanks for letting us crash here!"

Oliver and I quickly cleaned our dishes and Disapparated, hearing Elvin's cry of "MY NAME'S NOT ERIC!"

.xXx.

We had gone clubbing yet again, but Oliver and I made it a point not to drink this time. I was getting tired of having to crash on Elvin's couch. I sighed, looking at my digital clock. Three a.m. and I still wasn't asleep. There was only one thing to do. I stood and left my room, slowly making my way across our living room. I tripped over a shoe and fell to the ground with a painful smack, yelping as I hit the ground. Aw, bloody hell.

"OLIVER!"

I heard him wake with a start. "Kates?"

"Oliver, I tripped over a shoe, and I think I broke my hand!"

He came running out of his room, turning the lights on as he went. "Katie, you did _not_ trip over a shoe and break your hand!" He knelt down beside me, then looked from _his_ shoe to my quickly-swelling hand. "Bloody hell, Kates. I think you just tripped over a shoe and broke your hand."

"Not just any shoe," I grumbled. _"Your_ shoe. This is so your fault!"

"Hang on." He went to my room and got me a jumper. And yes, it was Puddlemere jumper. He was wearing one as well. "What were you doing, anyway?" he asked as he helped me into it.

"I couldn't sleep," I admitted. "So I was coming to see you."

"Katie, do you come see me _every_ time you can't sleep?"

"Yes. Do you have a problem with that?"

He laughed softly. "No, it's quite flattering, I assure you. Up we go." With that, he scooped me up in his arms and Apparated to St. Mungo's, then carried me to the front desk. The receptionist stared up at him with wide eyes. "Oliver Wood, checking in Katie Bell—she's broken her hand. Which she needs. Direly."

"Oh, um, come with me, then," she said, flustered. Fortunately, our fame and popularity demanded an immediate private room while we waited for a Healer to be free.

"So, what are you going to do while I'm away at the next game?" he asked. Next weekend was one of the last games of the regular season, and Nathan was playing, so I didn't really need to go.

I rolled my eyes. "I'll probably go stay with Alicia or something. That way I'll get to eat."

He shook his head. "George told me that he and Alicia were…um…"

"Gah, bad mental images! Thank you, Oliver Wood. Okay, then I'll probably wind up staying at home and eating popcorn while you're out kicking ass and getting treated to gourmet meals."

"Why don't you go out and eat?" he wanted to know.

"First of all, because it's a pain in the butt, and second, because I hate going out by myself."

"Katie, there's tons of people who would want to go with you."

I sighed stubbornly. "That doesn't mean I want to go with them! Besides, it's too much trouble."

"So you'd rather stay home and eat bread?" I nodded, and he laughed again. "Katie, you are unbelievable!"

I was childishly sticking my tongue out at him when the Healer came in. He was a brisk, middle-age man, who entered, healed me, and left. Oliver yawned as he signed my release papers and Apparated the two of us home. We both collapsed onto his bed and tried to fall asleep. You know, my life would be rather complicated if I had a problem with sleeping with Oliver. And yes, I realize _exactly_ how that sounded.

"Hey, Oliver?"

"Yeah?" Our voices were slightly muffled by the darkness.

"What are you going to do when you're too old to play professional Quidditch?"

He seemed amused by my question. "I'll be a coach, of course."

I snorted. "I was expecting an answer more like 'travel the world' or something. Oliver, you'll be up to your neck in galleons by then!"

"So? I never want to let go of Quidditch. When they get sick of my coaching, I expect I'll buy one of the teams. I'd fancy owning Puddlemere, you know."

I squeaked. "Are you _trying_ to be the richest man in the sports world?"

He snickered. "No. Don't forget, Bell, you're going to be raking the galleons in when Nathan quits."

My eyes widened. I hadn't even thought about that. "Whoa. We're doing pretty well for ourselves, aren't we Oliver?"

He yawned. "Yep. Pretty well, indeed."

A/N: Come on, say it. You know you love them!


	6. Flaming Marshmallows

Disclaimer: So, the other day, half the school population was doing field tests, so the rest of us had nothing productive to do, and we were in band. When band kids have nothing to do, we sit on the floor and watch old DCI (drum corps international) dvds. So Wes (trumpet section leader) had put the Blue Devils on (most amazing trumpet line EVER).

Me: (points to soloist's weird mouthpiece) What the hell is that?

Wes: It's this trippy thing that's like the equivalent of taking the muffler off of a car.

Me: …

Wes: It makes the sound all brassy and creamy and sexual.

Me: (snickering) Sexual?

Wes: You _know_ what I'm talking about.

Me: (rolling eyes) You _wish_ your tone was sexual.

Wes: (blank stare)

A/N: Okay, here's the lineup:

Big Mac Jones/Jag Brick—Beaters

Dace Mentose/Elvin Founder—Chasers

Rae Scarze—Seeker

I had just finished putting the last touches on my makeup when there was a knock at the door. "I'll get it," I called to Oliver. He grunted, sitting on the couch and watching the telly. Boys. I pulled open the door to find a nervous looking witch, probably in her late twenties. "Can I help you?" I asked curiously.

"Hello Miss Bell, I'm Mandy Schwizer. I was wondering if I could interview you and Mr. Wood for _Quidditch Weekly._ Would you two mind?"

I looked over my shoulder at Oliver, who had come to stand behind me when he heard the witch's proposition. He shrugged and went back to the couch, so I turned to the witch and nodded. "We'd be glad," I said.

"Fantastic!" I let her inside and went to sit next to Oliver. She pulled around one of our armchairs so she was facing us and took some quick pictures, then pulled out a quill and some parchment. "So, what kind of relationship do you two have?"

Oh bugger.

"…and then she wakes me up in the middle of the night, screaming that she tipped over a shoe and broke her hand!" Oliver exclaimed. By now we had Mandy positively in stitches from laughing so hard. "I couldn't believe it! So I turn the light on, and told her that she couldn't _possibly_ have tripped over a shoe and broken her hand, and guess what? She did!"

"And better yet, it was the git's own shoe!" I told her, my own face red from laughter.

Mandy eventually got herself under control. "Okay, okay. How do you get along with the rest of the team, Miss Bell?"

Oliver and I locked eyes and started laughing again. Mandy smiled, knowing she was missing the joke.

"So coach was on a total rampage—guess he was having a bad day—and he was taking it out on Eric, because—"

"Wait, who's Eric?" she interjected.

That cracked me up all over again. "Elvin. I call him Eric. Long story, but he didn't want me to call him Vinnie, so, um yeah. Anyway, he was taking it out on Elvin because Elvin's the quiet one, so he doesn't give coach sass like the rest of us do. So as soon as coach let us go, Elvin was the first one to the locker rooms, which meant as soon as he was in the shower, we grabbed his bag and ran like hell. What we _didn't_ know was that while we were running, Big Mac tripped over my bag, and it slid in place of Elvin's. So Elvin wound up in _my_ clothes, which he obviously realized, and he comes running out onto the pitch like a madman, wearing robes that come halfway up to his knees, chasing us all around for his own clothes. Good God, it was funny."

"So you like them pretty well?"

I grinned easily. "I love them."

"What about Raelyn? It's well-known that she's got it for Wood. How do you feel about that?"

My smile wavered, but I felt Oliver squeeze my hand. "There's no competition," I told her. "Ol's my best friend—always has been, and always will be. Nothing could tear us apart, let alone relationships with other people. He could date all of Britain and I'd still love him."

Mandy turned her smile to Oliver. "Well, Mr. Wood? What's your side if Bell were in your place?" I felt him freeze—obviously he had never considered that aspect. The muscles in his jaw tensed. "Mr. Wood?"

"Yes, well," he stumbled, his voice choked. "I'm a little overprotective of Katie, you know. If she dated all of Britain, I'd probably have to beat them all up."

Mandy winked at me out of Oliver's line of sight, and I turned bright red. For Godsakes, this is _Oliver_ were talking about. After another half hour, the interview was over, and Mandy graciously thanked us as Oliver escorted her out. He sighed as he sat back down next to me. "Well."

I grinned. "So," I said suggestively. "Is there _anyone_ in your love life, Mr. Wood?" I mocked.

He snorted. "Well Miss Bell, how are you dealing with the _male attention?"_

We fell into fits of giggles. "Come on, let's go out already. I'm _starving_ now!"

.xXx.

"ANGELINA MARIE JOHNSON AND ALICIA SCARLET SPINNET, OPEN THIS DOOR THIS INSTANT!" I bellowed, pounding on the door to Alicia and George's flat. Alicia had kicked George out and sent him to go stay with Fred at his and Angelina's place when I begged them to keep me while Oliver was away.

Angelina and Alicia tumbled out, laughing, and hugged me. "Finally! We haven't seen you in forever!" Alicia squealed.

"Well, I've been busy," I reminded them as we trooped inside.

"Yeah, busy getting all famous and crap!" Angelina snorted.

I rolled my eyes. "I'm not that—" she threw a magazine in my face and I caught it before it hit the ground. My eyes widened as I looked at the front page of _Quidditch Weekly_. "Oh," I said in a small voice. They cackled like old ladies.

Oliver and I smiled out from the cover, our faces pressed side by side. I have to admit, we look pretty damn good. I opened the magazine to the middle and found the four page article, which was surrounded by pictures of Oliver and me. We were at Quidditch practice, shopping, and sitting on our couch. Man, I hadn't thought the interview would actually get published.

"So, how bad is it?" I asked with a grimace, closing the magazine and throwing it on the couch.

"Actually, it's really good," Angelina said, falling over the back of the couch and looking at me upside down. Oliver does that all the time. "It includes a lot of witty banter between you and Oliver, and stuff like that. And, you know, how you like the team, and your living arrangement with Oliver, and howthereporterthinksyouandOliveraretotallyinloveandarecompletelymeantforeachother."

She said the last part really fast, so I realized that it was probably something terrible, but I didn't catch it. "What was that?"

Alicia sighed. "The reporter thinks that you and Oliver are totally in love and are completely meant for each other."

"It says that?" I demanded, grabbing the magazine again and nearly ripping it apart in my haste to find the article.

"No," Angelina admitted. "But it's the total undercurrent. You know, she says stuff like 'and the two are silent for a moment, simply lost in each other's eyes' or 'Wood holds Bell's hand reassuringly' and 'Wood seemed enraged when I mentioned Bell dating others, and it took him several moments to answer the question'. Stuff that doesn't shout "THEY'RE IN LOVE" but pretty much paints it every where in neon orange."

I groaned and sank down on the couch beside Angelina, then looked at Alicia, who was sitting on the floor. "Can you do anything about it?"

She shook her head. "No. You two legally gave the interview, so they weren't just pulling stuff out of private conversations. Besides that, it's already in print, and if we sued, people would _really_ think that you've got a thing with Wood. Not to mention the part where it's nearly impossible to win a lawsuit against a magazine."

I leaned over and began thumping my head against the coffee table. "This is such a bad thing."

"It's really not all that bad," Angelina soothed.

Alicia laughed out loud. "Angelina, the whole wizarding world is going to think that Katie and Oliver are in love!"

Angelina gritted her teeth. "Alicia—shut up!"

I laughed and sat up. "It's okay guys. Really, I'll live. I'm getting used to everyone thinking Oliver and I are together. I mean, we live together and everything. I'm just afraid that Manning's going to kill me."

"Why's that?" Alicia asked me, curious.

"He seems to have this whole rampage against team members dating each other. It screws up the team if they have a messy break up and everything."

"But when Oliver and you start dating, you'll _never _break up," Alicia said.

I looked at her blankly and Ange smacked her upside the head. "Alicia, stop talking before you hurt yourself. Or I hurt you."

"Please tell me you guys don't think Oliver and I are in love," I begged. They were silent. "Aw, dammit."

Angelina shrugged. "Katie, you can't deny that you love him," she told me.

"But there's a difference between loving someone and being _in_ love with them!" I cried.

"Not much. And really, you love him, don't you?" Alicia wanted to know.

"Yes, of course I do. But—but, he's Oliver, he's my Ollie," I said pitifully.

Angelina patted me on my back. "We know, Bell. Just keep in mind what we said. Your relationship with him can't always teeter on the edge of the knife."

I just blinked at her. "I wasn't aware that we were teetering." I pulled my robe off and set it over the arm of the couch. Both girls smirked at me. "What?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

"We're making you nervous," Ange said gleefully.

"What… oh." Damn. I was stripping. "Um… OH MY GOD, LOOK AT THAT!" I screamed, pointing behind them. I know, lame, but it was a last-ditch effort at distracting them.

"Alicia, don't look," Angelina said, not moving her eyes from my face. Alicia froze mid-turn and looked back at me. Ah, I love that girl; she's sort of thick sometimes.

Angelina rolled her eyes. "Alicia, you're so blonde." Ha! I distracted them anyway!

"Hey!" we chorused. Of course, Alicia's blonde was much brighter than mine, but I'm still definitely blonde.

I shook my head. "All right, let's go."

Angelina raised her eyebrows. "Where are we going?"

"We," I told her, "Are going to get massages, then facials, pedicures and manicures, we're having our hair done, and then we're going to pick out sexy new outfits, and last we're going out to eat."

"And who's paying for it?"

I smiled smugly. "I am, of course. I'm a professional Quidditch player, you know."

They laughed and put on muggle clothing.

.xXx.

"It's _so_ great to have a girls' night out," Ange sighed way later that night, as we sat around in our pajamas, roasting marshmallows in Alicia's living room over a magical fire.

"God, we haven't had one since… Hogwarts," I mused.

Alicia snorted. "That's because you decided to move in with Oliver freaking Wood and have your face plastered all over every Quidditch magazine that exists."

I stuck my tongue out at her. "I didn't _choose_ to have my face plastered everywhere," I reminded her. "They just can't resist me because I'm so damn beautiful."

"They can't resist you because you're living with one of Quidditch's most eligible bachelors," Ange corrected.

I groaned. "You read that one, too?"

She just laughed at me. "Hon, I'm keeping a scrapbook of every article that has you and/or Oliver in it!"

"Great," I grumbled. "I hope the revenge fairy visits you sometime soon."

Alicia looked at me, wide eyed. "There's a revenge fairy?" Angelina and I just stared at her for a second before busting out into laughter. "Wha—AHHHH! MY MARSHMALLOW'S ON FIRE!" That just made us laugh harder, and we held onto each other for support as Alicia ran around the living room in circles with the flaming marshmallow. "GUYS, IT'S NOT FUNNY! HELP ME!"

"Alicia," I choked out. "You're—a—witch!"

She stopped dead. "Oh, right." She picked her wand up off the coffee table and vanished the charred marshmallow. "Well," she said primly, sitting back down and impaling another marshmallow. Then she smirked at me. "Katie, your marshmallow's on fire."

I just smirked back at her. "Funny, Licia. You're just trying to get back at me for earlier."

"No, really Katie. Your marshmallow's on fire," she assured me calmly.

"Alicia, it's not going to work."

Angelina screamed. "KATIE, YOUR MARSHMALLOW'S ON FIRE!"

Startled, I looked down at the little flaming ball of sugar. Then I pulled an Alicia. I jumped up, screaming bloody murder and ran around the living room. "Put it out, put it out, put it out!"

Angelina and Alicia just watched me run for a couple of minutes. "Do you think we should help her?" Alicia asked.

"I don't know. This is kind of like cheap entertainment, you know?"

Just then, the flaming marshmallow dropped from the metal rod and landed on the carpet with a _plop._ Then we _all_ started screaming and running around it. It was Angelina who finally regained her head and vanished the little sucker. We all looked at the burnt hole in the carpet.

"Whoops."

Giggling, Alicia dragged the couch half a foot to the right, affectively covering the scorch mark. "George will never know," she said firmly.

Just then, we peered around the other side of the sofa. Moving the sofa revealed a burn on the other side. Angelina and I grinned at Alicia. "I bet George said the same thing about that one," Angelina mused.

Alicia scowled at the mark. "Ruddy bastard. And now I can't even say anything about it!"

"How 'bout this? Scoot the couch back over," I suggested. She did. "Reparo!" The rug fixed itself where the offending marshmallow had landed.

"Why is it I always forget about that?" she muttered.

"Now move the couch back, and I'll fix the other one."

Alicia moved the couch back, but smiled slyly. "Don't fix that one, Katie," she ordered.

I frowned. "Why not?"

"'Cos I want to have a fit about it." I gave her a blank look. "George and I haven't argued in the _longest_ time." I still just stared at her.

"Coughmakeupsexcough," Angelina coughed into her fist.

I blushed in realization as the two of them smirked in a superior manner. "Guys, please keep the bad mental images to a minimum, would you?"

"Trust me Katie, when you start shagging Oliver, you'll know how we feel."

My blush went from bad to OMGSTOPLIGHT! "Oi! Don't talk about Oliver and me like that! Good lord, girls."

Angelina looked at my pityingly. "Katie darling, we're only preaching the inevitable."

I glared at her. They ignored me. "So," Alicia mused. "How many kids do you think Oliver and Katie are going to have?"

"It's hard to say," Angelina contemplated, pretending to be oblivious to my scandalized expression. "It depends on which one of them is going to wear the pants in the relationship, so to speak. At this point, I don't know which one of them is going to be the one to decide on the actual number."

"Well, knowing Oliver, it'll be a Quidditch team."

Angelina snorted, and my jaw dropped open wider. "Alicia, knowing Oliver, it'll be _two_ Quidditch teams. Then they can have family games."

"Angelina?" I eventually managed to croak.

"Yeah?"

"Stuff it."

"Stuff what?" Alicia asked. All we could do was laugh at her.


	7. Fresh Meat

Disclaimer: So, I'm shearing a goat, who my ag teacher says is possibly the stupidest goat he's ever bred. No joke. We agree that it's mentally retarded—like, literally.

Me: (is shearing the inside of goat's leg)

Goat: (kicks me in face)

Mum and Mr. Gravell: HAHAHAHAHAHA

Goat: Baaaa.

Me: You bloody f—

Mum and Mr. Gravell: Language!

Me: (muttering) farking oversized kid glove

I highly doubt Jo has ever sheared a goat.

A/N: Okay, here's the lineup:

Big Mac Jones/Jag Brick—Beaters

Dace Mentose/Elvin Founder—Chasers

Rae Scarze—Seeker

"KATIE!" Oliver stumbled into my room, frantic.

"W-huh-what?" I stuttered, shooting straight up in bed. I looked at my clock, which pretty much told me I should still be asleep. "Oliver, what's wrong?" I demanded sleepily. "We don't have practice till three today!" It was Monday, and there was another game Saturday, which meant _long_, _strenuous_ practices, and I wanted my goddamn beauty sleep.

"Nathan quit!"

"WHAT?" I bellowed, suddenly completely awake.

"He called coach this morning and said his wife was making him quit—immediately!"

"But there's a game Saturday!"

"I know!"

"This is bad!"

"I know!"

Then it hit me. "OH MY GOD, I'M THE OFFICIAL LEAD CHASER FOR PUDDLEMERE UNITED!"

Oliver froze, then I threw myself into his arms and we danced around in absolute glee. "Lalala, we're professional Quidditch players," I sang.

"I always knew we would be," Oliver crowed. Then he stopped. "But that's not why I woke you up." I looked at him curiously. "Coach has to do some major damage control. He's calling an emergency press conference for nine o'clock."

"GAH! Oliver! It's 8:30, and I haven't even showered!"

Twenty minutes later found me hopping up and down on one foot while I slid my high heel on the other. Oliver supported me while I hopped up and down on my high-heeled foot to put my other shoe on.

"How do I look?" I asked. He looked me up and down, then grinned. I was wearing black slacks and a navy blue blouse, with my Puddlemere pin (Katie Bell—Lead Chaser) and my hair loose around my shoulders. I'm beginning to believe that blue is pushing all other colors out of my wardrobe, but it seemed right for the conference. I didn't understand why Oliver was still grinning until I looked at him, then I groaned.

He was wearing a navy blue button-up, with the sleeves rolled up around his elbows like I liked them. He was also wearing his Puddlemere pin, which I knew was a must for conferences. And yes, he was wearing black slacks.

"That's it, I'm going to change."

"There's not enough time," he said, his face still split by a wide grin. "Besides, it's mostly what we all wear to conferences, anyway." I half-heartedly glared at him while I put diamond studs in my ears.

"Let's go, then."

We met up with Manning, whose eyes had a hectic gleam to them. "Wood, Bell, good. Come on, we've got to get ready." Once the whole team was gathered together—and yes, everyone was wearing dark blue shirts and black pants. Except, naturally, our glamour queen. No, Rae was wearing a white blouse and dark blue pencil skirt with glittery jewelry and had her perfect blonde hair pinned up—Manning addressed us.

"All right, you all know the drill. Answer to the best of your ability, don't get carried away, and don't tell them anything we don't want them to know. Don't elaborate on Bell's abilities, either. This is a last-minute switch, so the Falcons will have been studying our tactics with _Nathan,_ not Katie. This is our chance to blow everyone away. No one's seen Bell in action, so they don't know what to expect from her—this is the only chance we'll have to take advantage of that. So… good luck," he finished weakly.

We all slapped him on the back as we walked up onto the stage/platform. Big Mac sat on the very end, with Jag next to him. Then sat Oliver and me, Dace, Elvin, and Rae. Coach sat down just a little in front of us. The reporters looked more like a rabid mob. Among all of the "Mr. Manning!s" Coach picked someone out.

"Mr. Manning, was this a planned switch, you know, between Kael and Bell?"

"Not exactly. We had intended to have Nathan play out the season, then have Bell replace him next year. However, due to sudden personal events, it was necessary that Nathan resign and bring Katie up in his place."

"Mr. Manning, I have a question for Mac Jones," another reporter said once Manning acknowledged him. (A/N: when a reporter asks a question, it's because Manning's already let him/her know to speak. I don't want to write out the whole process) "Mr. Jones, it was commented in one report that you think of Miss Bell as a younger sister. Is this true?"

Big Mac grinned widely. "I think all of us on the team feel that way. She's the youngest one of us, and she's just so damn amusing!"

"Miss Scarze, is it pure accident that you are sitting on the opposite end of the Chasers from Miss Bell? Actually, is it purely by accident that the lineup is skewed? If I remember correctly, you usually sit Chasers-Beaters-Keeper-Seeker."

"Pure accident," Rae said calmly.

"So, you're denying that there's any animosity between you and Miss Bell? She didn't purposefully place herself between you and Mr. Wood?"

I flushed angrily, and Oliver reached down and squeezed my knee. Thanks to the Puddlemere banner across the table, none of the reporters could see.

Rae just laughed. "Please. We didn't line up before we came out on stage. This whole conference was rather impromptu, and we hardly had time to catch our breath before coming up here. You'll notice that _no one_ is sitting in their usual spots. Katie and I get along just fine, I assure you."

"Miss Bell, do you agree with Miss Scarze?"

"One hundred percent," I assured him. Rae looked over and beamed at me. I tentatively returned the smile.

"Miss Bell, how would you define your playing style?" one man asked. I saw Manning swallow convulsively.

"Competitive," I said coolly. The reporters laughed.

"Do you think you're up to filling in Kael's shoes?"

"Do I look like my feet are that big?" Another laugh. I was going to let them think me to be insecure in my playing style, and catch them off guard Saturday. I always was passive aggressive.

"Mr. Wood, you were Bell's Captain at Hogwarts, were you not?"

"Yes," Oliver said warily.

"Is she a good Chaser?"

There was silence. That was a low blow. The reporter knew—_knew—_that Oliver wanted to share my amazing traits, that he didn't want to play down my abilities, even though he was supposed to. It was second nature for him to say that I was the best at something—everything. I knew it, and the reporter knew it.

The silence continued, and Oliver's grip on my knee tightened. Outwardly, he simply smirked. It was a perfect, unreadable smirked, and I inwardly rejoiced. There was no way to tell why he was smirking. It said that I was either really good, and he wasn't allowed to say it, or I was really bad and he didn't want to diss a team member.

It was still silent. The reporter's eyes narrowed at Oliver. "Mr. Wood?" Oliver continued to smirk. Frustrated, the reporter backed down. He didn't write anything. That's my boy, Ol.

"Mr. Founder, is it true that Bell calls you… _Eric?_"

I stifled a laugh while Elvin flushed. "Yes."

"Um, why?"

"Because apparently I'm the only one on the team who doesn't have a nickname, and I didn't want her to call me Vinnie."

"Yes, but _Eric?"_

Elvin sighed. "It's rather a long story."

"Mr. Manning, what's it like having two female players? Most teams discourage it."

I saw Manning stiffen in anger. "Women have just as much right to play as men. Some women are phenomenal players—just like some men are. People who discourage female players are old-timing misogynistic men who are afraid of change."

Several quills were sent scurrying.

"Mr. Brick, how do you think your team will fare against the Foulmouth Falcons?"

And so the conference went, with a lot of questions focused on Oliver and me. It made me uncomfortable, but Oliver kept a comforting grip on me knee. After a couple of hours, they let us go, and we all stiffly stood, our stomachs rumbling. As we made our way off stage, I heard Oliver's voice in my ear.

"Trip," he ordered.

"Wha—" I asked, turning to face him. And yes, I tripped purely of my own clumsiness, and due to the fact that I was wearing high heels. Oliver caught me before I hit the ground and light bulbs flashed. Pink with embarrassment, I followed the rest of the team out. "What was that?" I demanded once we were out of sight.

He started laughing. "I didn't think you'd actually do it!"

"It was an accident!" I fumed.

"Well, anyway, I wanted them to think you were clumsy."

"I _am_ clumsy!"

"But not on a broomstick," he corrected. "However, they'll think that you are."

I glared. "Hey, why were they all over me?"

Oliver shrugged. "You're fresh meat. They wanted to see if you were soft, you know? See if you'd reveal anything the more experienced players wouldn't."

"Great."

Manning came up between us from behind just then, throwing his arms over our shoulders. "Brilliant ploy, Bell! Faking them out, eh? And Wood! Always the hero, aren't you?" He chuckled. "Come on, I'm taking everyone out to eat—on me, of course."

"Since when do we turn down an invitation to spend your money, Coach?" Oliver teased.

Manning roared with laughter, obviously pleased with the way the conference had gone. "True, my Keeper. Very true."

And for all his good humor, I thought he was going to kill us with that afternoon's practice.

.xXx.

I collapsed on a bench in the locker room, lying flat out. "I think I'm going to die."

"Oh, it wasn't that bad, Katie," Rae laughed, still pretty and perky. It was ten o'clock at night. We had been practicing for seven hours. HOW THE HELL IS SHE STILL PERKY, LET ALONE PRETTY? I am perfectly aware that I look like total crap—why can't she?

"Yes, it was," Dace groaned, simply collapsing onto the floor. You know, if this wasn't a locker room that was immaculately cleaned every night after we left, I'd probably be grossed out.

"I'm going to kill Manning," Jag agreed, leaning against the wall and sliding down it. Mac threw himself on the floor without a word.

"Oh, you silly boys," she said brightly. "Tell Katie it wasn't so terrible. It wasn't, was it, Oliver?"

Oliver gave her a flat look, carefully set his broom down, then just fell over backward. "Ughhhhh."

"I wholeheartedly concur, my Scottish friend," I muttered.

"Actually, it wasn't that bad," Elvin said quietly, toweling his sweaty hair dry.

"See?" Rae said with a tinkling laugh.

"Great, but five out of seven players agree that Manning is on a rampage and is trying to kill us before the game," Mac said, his voice muffled by the fact that he was lying face-first on the floor. "Shall we kill him before he kills us?"

Jag laughed. "A Quidditch hit-team! I like it!"

"Well, I don't know about you all," Rae was saying. "But I believe I'll go out tonight. Anyone want to come with me?"

"I think I will," Elvin said in his quiet manner. We all just stared. _Elvin?_ Willingly going out? Especially after the kind of practice we just had?

"Oh dear God, I think we're finally corrupting the boy," Dace mused.

We were still all sitting there by the time Elvin and Rae had showered, gotten ready, and left. "Did Elvin just leave with princess-freaking-Rae to go clubbing?" I asked.

"I do believe so," Oliver answered.

"Wow."

"Oliver?"

"Yeah, Katie?"

"I can't move."

He chuckled. "Don't worry. None of us can."

"What are we going to do about it?"

"Bell?" Dace asked.

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

I clamped my lips together and begged my legs to move.

"Bell?" That was Jag.

"Yeah?"

"Stop talking to your legs out loud."

"Oh."

"Oliver?"

"Yeah Kates?"

"Carry me!"

He groaned. "Bell, I can't move any more than you can."

"Meanie. Oi! Everyone else is asleep, aren't they?" Silence. "Oliver? Ol?" Oh bugger.

At just about that time, I was able to slowly slide my legs off of the bench and sit myself up. From there, I tremblingly stood. Tiredly gleeful, I stumbled to the showers and leaned against the wall as I washed. After I shut off the tap, it became apparent that I had left everything—including my towel—at my locker. Why is it always me? I carefully peered out into the locker room. All four boys were blissfully asleep. Mac was snoring.

"Oliver!" I hissed. "Oliver!" He slept on, unaware. I ducked my head back into the bathroom. I was _tired,_ and I wanted to go home. Stupid boys. Using my filthy Quidditch robes as a sort of towel, I wrapped them around my body and tiptoed out into the locker room. Elated at my success, I grabbed my duffle bag and turned quickly back around to the bathroom.

And yes, I slipped and fell down.

I yelped as I hit the ground and held onto my robe. I opened my eyes to find four very awake Quidditch players staring blankly at me. "Um, hi," I offered weakly. Blushing profusely, I stood up, painstakingly holding on to my robe. Must… ignore… instinct… to strip… when nervous… "You could look away, if you wanted." They all instantly turned their faces away. I picked up my bag and turned my back on them so I could go change.

Bloody Quidditch players.

When I came back out, they were all asleep on the floor again. Rolling my eyes, I Apparated back to the flat with my stuff, as well as Oliver's. Then I went back to the locker room and side-along Apparated Oliver back with me. I levitated the great git onto his bed and then collapsed on mine.

I was asleep the moment my head hit the pillow.


	8. The Game

Disclaimer: "You're right, plethora is not a very useful word, and the tasteful writer will sidestep it and open up his/her thesaurus and find something better like 'shitload'. Well, maybe not but it would be better than plethora; at least somebody could really say it." –my Uncle John

A/N: Okay, here's the lineup:

Big Mac Jones/Jag Brick—Beaters

Dace Mentose/Elvin Founder—Chasers

Rae Scarze—Seeker

Oliver watched me carefully as we all got ready in the locker rooms. I had finished with my gear half an hour ago—the product of a neurotic personality. He kept his eyes on me as he strapped on his arm guards. I was busy pacing back and forth, muttering to myself. The rest of the team was putting their own gear on, half-watching me with amused expressions.

"Katie," he said slowly in a calm, stern voice. "You're going to be okay. You hear me? You're going to be _just fine._" I continued to pace. "Bell, repeat after me: I'm going to be fine. It's just a game."

I got halfway through the word 'fine' and had to dash to the trashcan to be sick. Big Mac cracked up laughing. Oliver was instantly at my side, holding my head for me and offering a bottle of water.

"Why did I let you drag me into this?" I moaned after I had rinsed out my mouth.

"Because you love Quidditch?" he asked.

I heard Jag snort. "It was probably the accent."

Oh yeah… "Dammit! It _was_ the accent! Well you know what? I'll show you, Oliver Wood. Don't you dare doubt me, you prat. I am about to show you what a goddamn great Chaser Katie Bell is!" I was fuming with anger.

Oliver, his mouth hanging open, looked at Jag, a 'wtf' expression on his face. Jag just smirked and shrugged. Then Manning came into the locker room, his stride important and determined. We gathered around.

"All right, team. You're great players—some of the best in the league. We've got a new combination of Chasers, and the Falcons don't know what kind of hell they're about to get from us. Show no mercy, because we need all the points you can get. We're going to win, dammit. Get it? Got it? Good." Then he left, and I sat blinking, startled by the abruptness. Apparently Oliver never explained to him how to make a properly exhausting Captain Speech.

Oliver gripped my shoulder. "Okay, Katie, you're going out first, as Lead Chaser. Dace is going to follow, then Elvin. Mac and Jag are next, then me and Rae." I nodded. "All right, let's go."

We walked to the opening under the stands, waiting there together, and I was reminded of our Hogwarts games. Jag and Mac were hyping themselves up, and Rae was obsessively running her hands through her hair. A wizard came by to check that we were ready, and Oliver looked down at me.

"I remember your first game," he said softly, nudging my hip with his. He smiled fondly.

I grinned. "I remember the look on your face when you thought that our fantastic Seeker was going to choke and die right there on the Pitch."

"Hey, swallowing Snitches is a dangerous activity, you know."

"You know that Fred and George would forever have called you 'the boy who let the boy who lived die a horrible and gruesome death in front of hundreds of spectators." We chuckled. "I was so terrified that morning. I thought I'd drop the Quaffle or fall all over myself or something. Actually, I was terrified of what you'd _do_ to me if I dropped the Quaffle, you being the mad Captain and everything."

The check wizard returned. "Mount your brooms," he ordered. Oliver and I mounted our brooms side by side and bumped our fists together in our usual manner.

"Luck, Bell," he said, just as he always did before a game.

"Save some for me, Wood." I stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek, then winked.

"KATIE BELL, LEAD CHASER!" I soared out onto the Pitch, setting myself in the familiar place in the center of the field. I looked across at Vex Shanlow, the Falcon's Lead Chaser, then quickly looked away again. I was _so_ going to die.

"DACIAN MENTOSE, RIGHT WING CHASER!" Dace came to hover next to me, smiling encouragingly.

"ELVIN FOUNDER, LEFT WING CHASER!" Elvin stopped on my left, his face set subtly.

"MAC JONES, BEATER! JAGGER BRICK, BEATER!" It was well known that our Beaters wouldn't come out one at a time. When the two appeared, they had their clubs raised in the air, crossed with each other's.

"OLIVER WOOD, KEEPER!" Oliver, the showoff, came out and did a barrel roll on his way to the hoops.

"AND RAELYN SCAREZ, SEEKER!" Rae, looking for all the world like a Quidditch pixie, soared over our heads to practically disappear into the clouds.

"Now, for all of you who don't know, this is Chaser Katie Bell's first game. She's flying in the stead of now-retired Nathan Kael. This is your chance to see how the new Puddlemere United team flies, folks. Wish her luck!"

I didn't have enough blood left in my face to blush—I was too busy being as deathly white as the Bloody Baron. I looked back up at Vex, who was grinning wickedly at me. He was cute, with light blue eyes and jet black hair.

"Don't hurt yourself, Bell," he taunted.

I looked back down at the referee, and I knew Vex was still watching me. "Shanlow, you are about to get your ass kicked by a girl who hasn't even had her morning cup of coffee yet." The Quaffle was already in the air. I dove for it while Dace and Elvin charged forward to block the Falcon Chasers.

All I could hear was the wind roaring in my ears as I stretched flat out on my broom, hoping Dace and Elvin had given me enough leeway to get to the goals unimpeded. Sure enough, I was completely alone when I approached the hoops. I didn't even think as I assessed the Keeper. His muscles were tense, but he was leaning to the left—he assumed I was right handed. Well, I am, but I've got a mean left hook. In a flash, I switched hands to get a better aim and launched the Quaffle through the hoop.

Dace whooped in delight as I sank it, and skimmed around me to give me a high five. I looked across the field to Oliver, who pumped his arm in the air victoriously. The Keeper passed the Quaffle to Vex, but we were ready for this. Mac and Jag were juggling Bludgers, keeping them away from the other team's Beaters. Elvin shadowed under Vex, with me and Dace on either side. Mac smacked a Bludger, which hit the Quaffle, popping it out of Vex's hands and straight down to Elvin. Jag used the other Bludger to crack the first one away from Elvin, while Dace and I braced sideways, swinging both of our brooms around and taking Elvin with us.

In a moment, we were twenty points up.

Oliver made a spectacular save next, which had me grinning with pride. That's my boy. He tossed the Quaffle to Dace, and we raced for the far side in a tight trio. Just before the hoops, I dipped under him as he flew to the right and Elvin swung far left, just in front of the middle hoop. The Keeper and Chasers were obviously confused—why was Elvin poised for the middle when Dace obviously had a good shot at the right? I was personally pleased—this was the play I had come up with the night before Oliver's final game at Hogwarts. Dace suddenly dropped the Quaffle to me, and I passed it to Elvin, who put it through the middle hoop, just as we had planned.

We were on top of our game, but I glanced at the skies. Where was Rae?

On our next pass, I had the Quaffle tightly tucked against my body, and I didn't understand Dace and Elvin's dismayed shouts until the Falcons' right and left Chasers sandwiched me roughly. I tried to dive, but I was packed tight. I heard the ref calling fouls before they even released me—I was headed straight for a goal post. Thanks to Oliver, I had an obsessed Quidditch player's mentality, which meant that I instinctively turned so my broom wouldn't take the brunt of the force. I _heard_ my damn shoulder pop out of the socket.

I opened my eyes on the ground, the team already standing beside me. I looked far behind them and saw an old mediwitch hobbling down the Pitch to us. "Shit," I swore, my shoulder making me ill with pain. "She's not going to let me finish the match like this!" They all looked at me soberly. "Oh, don't you _dare_ give me that pathetic shit," I snapped. "I know all of you big manfellows are strong enough to pop it back in."

"Are you nuts?" Oliver demanded. "That's your throwing arm!"

"Which is why I need it. Now."

He looked around at everyone else and swore under his breath. I grabbed a handful of Mac's robes while Oliver carefully took my lame arm. "This is for saving my life after the Hufflepuff game," he muttered.

I gave a muffled yelp as he twisted my arm with quick strength and popped it back in place. Everyone winced at the sick sound. "See?" I gasped, sensing that I was slightly green around the gills. "All better." Sweat rolled down my face.

Oliver looked at Rae, slightly green himself. "Rae, you had better find that goddamn Snitch—_fast."_ We were in the air before the mediwitch arrived.

"I can not freaking believe this," I muttered to myself. "I can _not_ FREAKING believe this!"

It was midnight, and we were up a hundred points, but that meant nothing if the Falcons found the Snitch. We were all exhausted, and running out of steam. By now they were calling water breaks every hour, and our coaches were forcing pepper-up potion and power bars down our throats whenever they could. My throwing arm was stiff, so I was keeping to mostly passing, unless I was the only one who could get a clear shot. I could feel a gigantic bruise spreading itself across my shoulder.

The ref called another break. The fans were excited—night Quidditch, oh goodie! We wearily landed, stumbling to the benches set up for us. As soon as I sat down, Oliver pulled off my robe for me and Manning slapped an ice pack on my shoulder. It was getting to be quite routine. Rae rubbed her eyes tiredly.

"I'm so sorry, guys. I swear, that ball's in Scotland by now. I haven't seen it all day." She yawned.

"It's fine," Manning said gruffly—the rest of us were too tired to answer her. "You're all doing your best, I know."

Dace gave him a tired look. "It's not over yet, Coach. We're not the only ones getting tired, and Katie may have a stiff arm, but I don't think Shanlow can even see straight anymore."

Mac handed me a bottle, and I grimaced before taking a quick swig. It was one of Elvin's mixes, and the acerbic taste did as much to wake us up as the load of caffeine did. I coughed before passing it to Oliver.

I took a deep breath. "Let's push and hold."

Everyone stared at me. "Bell, that's mad," Elvin snapped quietly.

"Are you trying to kill us?" Dace demanded.

I shook my head, stifling a yawn. "No. Who knows how long this game could last? We'll push it to one sixty while we still have _any_ energy left without shooting caffeine directly into our veins. So we'll hold it, play keep away. Then we've got it in our pocket, no matter who catches the Snitch."

"It'll kill us."

I shrugged stupidly, and my shoulder popped. Everyone winced, and I nearly passed out. "Probably," I agreed. "Who's with me?"

We finally leveled ourselves up by one sixty as dawn was breaking. We were all swaying dangerously on our brooms, hardly conscious. We were slow—it was quite pathetic, actually, but nearly twenty-four hours of professional Quidditch will do that to you.

I almost collided with Vex—I don't think he _could_ see straight—and swayed so far on my broom that I had to do a barrel roll to keep from falling off. It was totally ridiculous. We were good players, but no one was used to this kind of insanity. I could tell that the crowd was wearing down, most of them napping in their seats or drinking coffee like addicts. This was possibly the most tedious, terrible thing I had ever gone through. Pulling an all-nighter Quidditch game was not nearly as fun as it sounds—at least not when you've been playing all day as well.

And my butt hurt.

We were all moving as if flying through molasses—our team sluggishly avoiding the Falcons, the Falcons half-heartedly trying to take the Quaffle from us. The Beaters didn't bother aiming Bludgers at the other team, but just kept them away from all of us, no matter whose side the balls were going for. The Keepers were practically asleep on their brooms, Oliver obviously a little more awake, his love for Quidditch keeping him slightly energized.

It wasn't till noon that we heard it. "THE SEEKERS HAVE SEEN THE SNITCH!" The entire stadium perked up at that—it could be the end of the game! I didn't hear anything else the announcer said, but all of us on the field froze in our pathetically slow actions to watch the two Seekers, flat out on their brooms, arms outstretched. The lanky Falcon Seeker had the advantage with his long arms, but Rae was a quick little sprite. My heart pounded in my chest as I watched them, Rae a tiny blonde streak shadowed against the darker man. The Snitch glinted in the bright noon, and we followed it with our eyes, transfixed. I was vaguely aware that Elvin was shadowing under them, keeping tabs.

All I could think was 'please let it be the end, please let it be the end.' I was completely desperate to go home and go to my own bed so I could sleep for a week. I didn't even care who caught the Snitch—we had it in the bag no matter what. At the same time, both Seekers grabbed a wing of the Snitch. Even the announcer was silenced in a sort of awe—was that even possible?

A sort of power struggle ensued between the two of them, tugging back and forth.

They were coming down now, and I could see the expression on Rae's face. Until that moment, I hadn't understood why Oliver was afraid of my interactions with her—she had always seemed so sweet. She looked anything but sweet now, her pretty face set in a scowl as she tried to pull the Snitch away from the stronger man. They looked like children fighting over a toy.

Finally, Rae reached over with her free hand—leaving her broom to be guided with just her knees—and grabbed the other Seeker's wrist, pressing her thumb between the tendons with what appeared to be a considerable amount of force. Startled and in pain, he was forced to release the Snitch's wing.

With the sudden lack of counterforce, Rae went over sideways, falling off of her broom with the Snitch still in her hand. Before she had fallen more then a few feet, Elvin had her in his arms, smiling slightly with relief. The applause through the stadium was deafening, whether for our win or Elvin's quick actions.

Far from energized, all fourteen of us slowly descended and stumbled to our coaches, hardly acknowledging what was going on. My broom over my good shoulder, I leaned against Oliver.

"I hate you," I muttered, my eyelids already drooping, now that I didn't have to pay attention to anything.

"I know," he yawned, slipping his arm around my waist to support me. Manning already had a healer waiting for me. She scolded me as she fixed my shoulder up, reducing it to a dull ache and the nasty bruise. She said I deserved it for upsetting my body's 'delicate internal balance' by letting Oliver 'manhandle' me.

Manning was positively gleeful. We had won by 310 points, after all. Other than that, I didn't pay attention to the final score. "Coachie, can we go home?" Rae wanted to know.

Manning grinned. "Come on, don't you all want to do a victory lap or something? Go clubbing? Get drunk off your asses?"

"Go to hell, Manning," Mac yawned. "See you Tuesday."

Without another word to our Coach, we got our stuff out of the locker rooms and Apparated home. Oliver and I didn't make it to our rooms. We dropped our duffle bags by the door and collapsed on the couch together, not even taking off our Quidditch gear. I was asleep the moment I laid down, before I was even situated comfortably.

I woke up somewhere around three in the morning, totally disgusted. My hair was plastered to my skull in its ponytail and I was still wearing my nasty Quidditch things. Not bothering to sit up, I sleepily undid my guards, fumbling with the buckles in the dark. Then I lifted my feet up so I could unlace my boots and kick them off my feet, and peeled my socks off. Still lying down, I pulled off my robes so I was just in my tank top and shorts.

I glanced over at Oliver in the dark. He was sprawled half-off the couch, sleeping with his mouth open. His normally messy hair was flat, just like mine was. I reached over and undid his guards for him, then pulled off his shoes and his robe. Then I set myself back down and quickly fell asleep again, a little more comfortable.

I woke up near eight in the morning to the smell of cooking food—I was absolutely starved. I slowly sat up, realizing how sore I was from approximately 36 hours of straight Quidditch. My shoulder throbbed lightly—with my tank top on, the giant dark bruise was visible. I stood, then stretched down to touch my toes. When I straightened again, I twisted from side to side to loosen up my back, which was stiff from sleeping on the couch. I could hear Oliver singing, and grinned to myself.

He looked up as I walked into the kitchen. "Good morning Sleeping Beauty," he teased.

"Prat," I yawned. "I don't know how I let you talk me into playing professional Quidditch. It's mad."

He raised his eyebrows. "Katie, do you know how much of a bonus to our normal salaries we get when we win—especially when we win _well?"_ I shook my head, and he snorted. "From this game, our bonus _alone_ is more than most people make in a year."

"Well it damn well better be! I don't sit on a broom for 36 hours for freaking nothing, you know!" He chuckled and put a plate piled high with food down in front of me. "Thanks, Ol."

"Welcome, Kates."

We were silent as we ate like starving people. After all, we hadn't had anything but power bars since the night before the game—I was too neurotic to have eaten before we played, and Oliver… okay, Oliver was too neurotic to eat, either, but he'd been like that in Hogwarts, too. I remember how it pissed everyone off that he practically shoved food down our throats while he ate nothing. Weird boy, he is.

After I ate, I took a shower, delighting in the feel of the hot water on my sore muscles as I washed my sweat-sticky hair. Dressed in silky pajama bottoms and a tank top, I grabbed an old book and went to the living room, where Oliver was already reading. I curled up, tucking myself against him, forcing him to wrap an arm around me so he could comfortably hold his own book.

We sat there all day, relaxing to the background music of the radio, making more food every couple of hours and drinking gallons of water. Ange, Alicia, and the twins came by to congratulate us, and we talked for a little while before they declared us boring and left. Oliver and I returned to our comfortable routine.

Practice that next week wasn't so harsh, and Friday we finally went out to celebrate our win. Rae was annoyingly flirtatious with Oliver and our waiter in turns, and I thought I was going to have to bite her head off. I hadn't seen her flirt a whole lot with Oliver before, but I suppose she was comfortable enough with me now that she figured I wouldn't mind much. Oliver looked at me ruefully, and I realized that his was how she normally was with him. However, the chance of me saying something to her about it was about as great as the chance of a meteor streaking down from the sky and incinerating her. Not that I was hoping that would happen.

Much.

Grr. Freaking females.

So I was sitting there, internally stabbing Rae for flirting with Oliver, who was obviously uninterested, when the waiter set a red rose down in front of me. I looked up at him, confused, and he wordlessly handed me a small piece of folded paper. He left as I opened it up, and the team looked at me curiously.

_Good game, Bell. Look to your left, by the restrooms._

_V_

Startled, I glanced to my left. Vex was there by the wall, and he winked at me before slipping away like a noonday shadow. I was fascinated. Vex Shanlow?

"Who's it from?" Rae asked.

I shrugged and grinned. "Admiring fan."

Oliver kept his gaze on me a moment more, then his eyes flicked to the left, where Vex had stood just a moment beforehand. He raised his eyebrows at me, and I knew that he knew. Perhaps he didn't know that the 'admirer' was Vex, but he knew that it was no simple brush-off.

"Excuse me for a moment," I asked. I felt Oliver continue to watch me as I set my napkin down next to my plate and left the table. I found Vex around the corner. I raised my eyebrows and he grinned wickedly.

"Good evening, Miss Bell," he offered.

I leaned against the wall and folded my arms across my chest. "Fraternizing with the enemy?"

"A very attractive enemy," he corrected.

I couldn't help but smile. "So that's what this is about, is it?"

"Is that a problem?" he approached me so that he was speaking just a few inches from my face.

"Meet me later at Silver Moon."

This had the potential to be such a bad thing. Even worse, I didn't care.


	9. Fraternizing Hard Core

Disclaimer: Oliver Wood heard that Harry Potter doesn't support Puddlemere. Oliver Wood decided to discuss said non-support with Harry Potter. Harry Potter is now a smear on the Puddlemere locker room wall. Oliver Wood is out burning the ruined bludger's bat. The wizarding world rejoices, Katie Bell is slightly vexed, and JK Rowling is stumped—she now has no main character. And this is how it came to be Oliver Wood and the Sorcerer's Stone, Oliver Wood and the Chamber of Secrets, Oliver Wood and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Oliver Wood and—well, you get my point. Sean Biggerstaff should have starred. The end.

A/N: Okay, here's the lineup:

Big Mac Jones/Jag Brick—Beaters

Dace Mentose/Elvin Founder—Chasers

Rae Scarze—Seeker

A/N2: This one's pretty short, but it's a Katie/Oliver cookie!

"So, Vex, huh?" Oliver asked casually, a month after the restaurant thing. Vex and I had been meeting regularly to go out together. Which really translates to we'd mostly been snogging like it was going out of style. I nodded. Of course I would tell Oliver. I had been worried about his reaction, but he seemed to be taking it reasonably well. After he broke a lamp, of course. "Why?"

I shrugged. "It's just a hookup. For fun, you know?" 

He pursed his lips as he studied me. Then he smiled and drew me to his chest in a hug. "Just be careful, Kates," he said into my hair. "I'd hate to have to kill the Falcon's Lead Chaser. Bad publicity, you know?"

I laughed. "I'll be careful Ol. I promise. Now, when are we going to hook you up with Rae?" I teased.

"Funny, Bell." He rolled his eyes, but I could hear the strain in his voice. Really, Oliver was too much my older brother sometimes.

Speaking of, there was a sudden pounding on the door. I pulled away from Oliver and looked through the peephole. Grinning from ear to ear, I yanked the door open. "BLAKE!" I yelped happily, jumping into his arms.

Blake pulled away and held me away from him, gripping the tops of my arms, glaring down at me reprimandingly. "Katie!"

I instantly felt like I'd done something wrong. Blake has that affect on me sometimes. I gave him a guilty smile, looking apprehensively into his green eyes, echoes of my own. "Yes my darlingest brotherest dearest?"

"Vex Shanlow?"

I felt my mouth drop into a little 'Oh' of surprise. "How'd you know?"

"_Vex Shanlow?"_

"Nice to see you, too, Blake."

He shook me a little. "VEX SHANLOW?"

"Yes?" I asked.

He looked up at Oliver over my shoulder, and I could feel the pissed brotherliness practically radiating from the two of them. "Did you know?"

Now that Oliver had someone to share his disapproval with, he got up on his high horse with Blake. "She just told me," he said, disgust evident in his voice.

"God Katie, how old is he?" Ah, this one was the killer, and we all knew it. I kept silent.

"Twenty four." Dammit, Oliver!

Blake gaped. "Katie, that's six bloody years older than you!"

I jerked my chin up, hoping to be able to get the affect of looking down my nose at the two of them. No such luck—they were both too tall. "I'm an adult, you know," I reminded them.

My brother snorted. "You're still my _little_ sister."

"Do you want to meet him?" I asked.

He recoiled in horror. "Why would I want to meet the man who's snogging my baby sister?"

"Maybe you'd like him. He does have some good traits, you know."

"What do _you_ like about him?" Blake demanded. "As far as you should be concerned, he's the enemy."

I grinned wickedly. "Do you really want to know?" Blake released me as if he'd been burned, and I heard Oliver actually gagging. "Relax, you two. You're being ridiculous. I'm a big girl, and I can take care of myself, okay?"

Oliver snorted. "Bell, you just _think_ you can take care of yourself. Really we take care of everything for you when you're not looking."

I smacked Oliver's arm without turning away from Blake. "Really, guys. You can't baby-sit me forever."

Blake raised an eyebrow. "Watch us."

I laughed. "I love you guys. Just let me have a little fun."

He pressed his lips together, drawing them into a thin white line. "Fine. But let him know that if he hurts you, he will never look the same."

"I wouldn't expect less. Does Mum know?"

He snorted. "Are you kidding? She was practically dancing." All three of us shared a knowing eye roll. My mum was infamous for digging into our personal lives.

Eventually, Blake left, and I returned to my room. You know, I just realized that my room is _really _messy, which is extremely strange for someone as neurotic as I am. I mean, think about it. I don't get it.

I sprawled out on my bed, my face pressed into my lovely fluffy pillows. I was half asleep when an Apparition pop startled me awake. "Wha—" Lips cut my words off suddenly.

And I never understood why, in that instant before I opened my eyes, I thought of Oliver.

It was Vex, of course. Gorgeous, wonderful, sexy Vex Shanlow. An Adonis. Your standard, idolized professional Quidditch player. In my bed. On top of me. Kissing me in a way that should be illegal. 

And I was thinking of bloody _Oliver._ Thinking of Oliver's hands running through my hair, Oliver's mouth insistently on mine, Oliver's—

"Hey Ka—woahholyshit!"

In reflex reaction, I shoved Vex off of me, and he hit the floor with a heavy thud and a startled shout. Oliver stood in my doorway, wide-eyed and scandalized. My face turned twelve different shades of red. "Ah… hey… Oliver…"

_Please don't know what I was just thinking._

He was ghost white. "Katie what are you _doing!"_

_Please don't know what I was just thinking._

"Vex—leave—now," I muttered out of the corner of my mouth. He scrambled to his feet and disappeared. Looking shell-shocked, Oliver staggered across the room and collapsed on the bed beside me. "Ol, are you going to be okay?"

_Please don't know what I was just thinking._

"Oh my god."

_Please don't know what I was just thinking._

I winced. "Scarred for life?" He nodded. "I'm sorry?"

_Please don't know what I was just thinking._

"Not as sorry as I am."

_So he doesn't know what I was thinking._

… _this time._


	10. Pox

"I hate Coachie, I hate Coachie," I sang morbidly, in my stuffed-up voice

Disclaimer: Quote by some journalist about David Archuleta, my first ever _American Idol_ hero: "He has the eyes of Bambi, only darker and perhaps 11 percent more earnest." If you've seen this kid sing, you'd be in love with him, too.

Weekly funny:

"My feet are freezing!"

"Well, my hands are freezing."

"But we've got handwarmers. My feet are seriously freezing! How are your feet not, like, icicles?!" (pause) "…you put your handwarmers in your boots, didn't you?"

"…yeah…"

Moral of the story: When in doubt, put the handwarmers in your boots.

A/N: Okay, here's the lineup:

Big Mac Jones/Jag Brick—Beaters

Dace Mentose/Elvin Founder—Chasers

Rae Scarze—Seeker

"I hate Coachie, I hate Coachie," I sang morbidly, in my sore-throated voice. Oliver laughed at me and I coughed pathetically.

"Come on, Bell. We've got to get to practice." He tossed me a hoody, which I pulled over my t-shirt and jeans.

"I hate you," I grumbled half-heartedly, holding my pounding head. He laughed again and kissed my forehead. "Will you get me some Advil, then?" Greatest muggle invention ever. Next to the telly.

He disappeared for a moment before reappearing and handing me two Advil and a bottle of water. I tossed back the pills and took a deep swig, then stretched my hand up. Oliver took it and hauled me off the couch, grabbing both of our duffle bags. "Are you ready?"

"Ridiculously."

In the locker rooms, Mac laughingly impersonated my distorted voice until Oliver threw his own Beater's club at his head. Rae kind of looked like she really didn't want to catch it. Which is completely understandable, but still… so Rae. Elvin smirked at me, as if my illness were some righteous pay-back for calling him Eric.

Later, on the Pitch, I hit him in the face with the Quaffle. Dace almost fell off his broom, laughing. "Save it for the other team, Bell," Manning called mildly, which made Mac and Jag crack up.

"Oh, we _know _what she saves for other teams," Oliver said, perfectly audible. I glared at him, but no one was shocked, though Elvin rolled his eyes and Rae giggled behind her hand. There must have been an article run in some magazine. Seriously. How else would they all have found out?

I think Oliver bribed Manning or something, because practice wasn't murderously long, but I was still mostly dead by the end of it.

By the time we got home, I was shivering and sniffling and pretty much felt like shit. I just flopped down on the couch and Oliver grabbed the duvet from my bed, tucking it around my body. "Agh! Your hands are _freezing!"_

He sighed in resignation. "Katie Bell, I do believe you have the flu."

I half-heartedly glared at him. "Tell me something I don't know."

His eyes narrowed slightly and he leaned toward me. "Oh… shit." His gaze was on my face.

"What?" I croaked, paranoid.

Oliver didn't answer me. Instead he grabbed the phone and gave me a bottle of water with more Advil. "Manning? Yeah, this is Wood. Can you call the rest of the team for me? I think we all have to quarantine ourselves." I watched him curiously as he paused, listening to our coach. "No, no, nothing like that. Bell has the _chicken pox…_. Yeah, me neither. Do you think Elvin has anything… okay, I'll call him. Alright, thanks Coach."

"Chicken pox?" I wailed as Oliver started redialing. "Oliver!"

He absently stroked my hair. "Elvin? It's Oliver. Yeah, that's what Katie's got. Oh, really? Hell. Do you have anything… okay… Nah, I think we'll stay here. Okay. Take care, then." He hung up and smirked at me.

"Kates, you have effectively reduced the entire Puddlemere United Quidditch team to a bunch of itchy children."

I made a face. "Come on, it _has_ to take longer than that to catch!"

"Chicken pox is contagious from before the time the rash shows, and we've all been together at practice every day."

"Well, _you're_ all right," I said dubiously.

"For now," he said, just as mistrusting of that fact as I was. He leaned against me, and I snuggled against his chest familiarly, duvet and all. "Elvin says Rae and Dace are crashing with him, and Jag's with Mac."

"I can't believe _none_ of us have ever caught this before."

He shrugged. "It's a muggle thing, mostly." A sudden thought occurred to me, and I grinned roguishly. "What?"

"How many of the Falcon's players do you think have already had it?"

"Ugh, Katie! Thanks for the visual." He always gets such a seriously disgusted look on his face whenever I bring this up.

"What, it's not like I'm snogging _all_ of them. But if I got all of you sick from association, and Vex got it from me, the Falcons could be down, too." He scowled at me. "I'm just saying."

I closed my eyes then and fell asleep on Oliver's chest. I woke to darknessin Oliver's bed, covered in both of our duvets and three unzipped sleeping bags. I shivered and burrowed deeper into the covers, but I was too uncomfortable, still wearing my jeans and all. I didn't want to get up. I _so_ did not want to get up.

Tentatively, I reached my arm down to the floor and only felt carpet. Damn Oliver for keeping his room obsessively clean. If this were my room, I would have likely come into contact with _some_ article of clothing more comfortable than what I was currently wearing. Which meant I was going to have to get up, because there was no way I could sleep in jeans any longer.

Using some of the words I had learned at practice, I crawled out of bed and walked to my room, inch by bloody inch, half bent over, with my arms clutched around my torso so I wouldn't lose more body heat than strictly necessary. Our cold hardwood floors seemed to suck my life out through my feet.

Finally in my room, I found my warmest sweats and set them on my bed before bracing myself. Then I stripped in record time and threw the clothes on, shivering. Next, I pulled on three pairs of socks and a too-big hoody that had probably belonged to Oliver at one point in time, but I'd had it since fourth year, so… By now, I was shivering so violently that it was actually more like convulsions.

After what seemed like forever, I made it back to Oliver's bed and climbed in next to him. He was awake in no time, what with my shudders rocking the bed and everything. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close against him.

"God, Katie, you're burning up," he whispered hoarsely, putting one of his own icy hands to my forehead.

"So are you," I said gratefully, tucking myself more firmly against the feverish heat of his skin. After several minutes, my trembling finally ceased. "I love you, Oliver," I said, somewhat cheerily for a person who has the chicken pox. But maybe I was delirious. In reply, he kissed my forehead and I yelped. "Your lips are cold!"

He chuckled.

.xXx.

When I woke up, moving was the last thing I wanted to do. I had a nice little bubble of warmness going, and I wasn't going to mess with it. Also, I ached like I'd been run over with a milk truck several times in quick succession. And my entire body itched like a mother. So, no, I didn't want to move.

And I had to pee. Lordy, I had to pee.

Seriously, I'm still having trouble accepting the fact that I've got the chicken pox. Really. I'm in the 'you've got to be kidding me, goddammit' phase. Then I heard Oliver's voice.

"Oh god, I don't want to move," he groaned.

"I have to pee," I whined.

"I itch."

"I ache."

"My throat hurts."

"I'm _still_ freezing."

"We're pathetic, Kates. Positively pathetic," he mused.

"We're also an eighteen and twenty-one year old with the chicken pox, which means we have no mommies to take care of us. We have the right to be pathetic."

Oliver pondered that. "Good. That makes me feel better."

"I'm so happy," I said dryly, burrowing my face down into the warm comforter. Oh sweet Merlin, now I _really_ itched. "Hey Ol?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we black out all the mirrors in the house?" _I_ didn't want to see myself like this, so I assume he didn't want to see himself, either.

"Dear lord, yes!"

"Oliver?"

"Yep?"

"I _still_ have to pee."

.xXx.

Oliver and I settled for spending most of the day in the prefect-sized bathtub in our bathroom, which Elvin suggested we add baking soda to. It helped.

I idly scratched at the string of my bikini with my knuckles and turned a page in the book I was reading. "I bet everyone really hates me right now," I mused.

Oliver took a long swig of ice water. "Probably," he agreed.

The phone rang next to me, so I set my book down and answered it. "Wood-Bell residence," I said politely in my rough voice. An equally rough voice answered me.

"Ah, so it _is_ your fault," Vex teased from the other end of the line.

I felt a grin curling over my features. "You've got the chicken pox?"

He sighed. "My entire _team_ has the chicken pox, Katie."

"Mine, too."

"Where the hell did you get it?" he wanted to know.

I sank a little lower in the water so that it covered my up to my chin. "I don't know."

"God, this sucks."

"Go take a warm bath with baking soda," I told him, shifting the phone to my other hand. "Trust me when I say it helps."

I could practically _hear_ him raise his eyebrows. "You're sitting in a bathtub with Wood right now, aren't you?"

I smirked, despite the blush rising on my cheeks. Why is _everyone_ so intent that something's going on between Oliver and me? Even my _snog partner_ thinks so!

_And what would your snog partner think if he knew that you were fantasizing about Wood while you two were making out? _a treacherous Angelina-slash-Alicia-esque voice in my mind asked. _I wasn't fantasizing,_ I retorted quickly. _He just happened to cross my mind as my lips just happened to be attached to Vex's. No big deal. No conspiracy. No-Katie's-in-love-with-her-best-friend-oh-how-cute._ The voice smirked, if voices in my head can smirk. _I never said that._

Aw shit, I'm talking to Vex!

_I won. Sucker._

"Jealous?" I teased, pretending like I wasn't totally insane. Maybe just a little, but not totally. Of course not.

"Insanely," he assured me.

I chuckled. "Go take a bath and call me when you're better."

"Bye, Katie."

"Bye."

I hung up, still smirking. Oliver smirked back at me. "Vex?"

"His entire team's got it."

I saw unholy amusement on his face. "Well, Katie, you know how to clear a room, it seems."

I splashed at him. "Shut up, you prat."

"You know you love me."

"I _am_ sitting in a bathtub with you, aren't I?" I reminded him.

Oliver laughed. "Katie, my life would be so much less amusing without you." He paused for a moment. "But then I wouldn't have the chicken pox, so…"

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, you know how to flatter a girl, all right. And speaking of _girls…"_

"Leave off, Bell. I'm not dating Rae."

"Aw, but there are so many girls out there who would like a chance with Quidditch's most eligible bachelor," I teased him. "Would you really deny them their hearts' desire?"

"Honestly? Yes."

"_Why?"_

He didn't say anything at first; he just sat there, his eyes sharp on my face… I unconsciously held my breath, wondering what he was looking for.

I was so absorbed, in fact, that I jumped, startled, when my Mum's owl dropped a letter next to me and perched up on the counter. I opened the letter curiously.

"_Oliver and Katie,_

_I just wanted to warn you that Blake picked up the chicken pox at work. Some wizard brought in his daughter, worried that she had dragon pox or something. I know he was over there the other day, so… Well, I hope this letter finds you in good health, but I figured that you'd like the warning._

_Love,_

_Mum"_

I snorted and tossed the letter to Oliver while I accio'd a quill and parchment.

"_Dear Mum,_

_I'm glad Blake has the chicken pox—that means that it isn't directly _my_ fault that the entire Puddlemere United _**and**_ Falmouth Falcon Quidditch teams are down with it. Seriously, it's like we're a kindergarten class or something. Before you worry, Oliver and I are doing fairly well—I came down with it yesterday afternoon and Oliver got sick last night. Rae and Dace are with Elvin, and Jag's with Mac, so nobody's on their own. But just for the record, let Blake know that I'm telling everyone how Oliver and I got it, so they know who to kill. _

_Love you,_

_Katie and Oliver"_

I sent the letter off and picked up my book again, sinking deep into the water.

"Do you know what I'm going to do next summer?" I mused, thinking out loud.

"What's that?"

"I'm going to walk barefoot in the park through the sprinklers at dusk," I told him wistfully, imagining it in my head. When I turned my attention back to Oliver, he was looking at me like I had just grown two heads. Two _extra_ heads.

"…Why?"

I shrugged, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. "I dunno. I just sort of want to." Now I felt silly and a little childish for saying it out loud.

"Oh. Well, why wait?" he wanted to know. "You can go once you're better."

I snorted. "Because I probably won't get a chance before it gets cold. As soon as we get better, Manning will kick us into high-gear training for the last game, then we'll _have_ the last game, which I believe is somewhere way in north England, and after that, we've got that press conference tour that is positively going to _kill_ me. So by the time we get home, it'll be fall. And cold. And I will _so_ not want to walk through sprinklers in the cold."

He chuckled. "Whatever you say, Bell. Whatever you say."

And I could feel him watching me sidelong as I returned to my book.


	11. Sex Kittens and Unanswered Questions

"I hate Coachie, I hate Coachie," I sang morbidly, in my stuffed-up voice

Disclaimer: So, my ag teacher is sort of like my second father, and he's really overprotective of me. Also I'm sort of a hazard to myself and those surrounding me. But strangely, mostly just myself. And we were out in the shop, playing washers one day because we really had nothing better to do.

Mr. Gravell: Why aren't you playing washers?

Me: Seriously?

Mr. Gravell: …yes.

Me: You've banned me from welding, cutting, chipping slag (all three due to various injuries involving slag burns—I was the first person to _ever_ use the shop eyewash because I got hot slag under my eyelid), playing ping pong (he's too embarrassed by my ridiculously clumsy playing non-abilities), using cleaning chemicals (self-explanatory), filling up the fish tank (long story), large pieces of metal (don't ask), staircases (rolled down a flight of stairs), hammers, chisels (both due to hand injuries sustained by missing chisel and hitting hand with hammer… several times, bursting a blood vessel thingy), grinders (sparks), and wearing wet shoes indoors (ouch). Do you _really_ want me throwing heavy chunks of metal?

Mr. Gravell: Why don't you go grade papers?

Me: Good idea.

A/N: All right, so I've gotten a couple of messages with people really annoyed with me for not checking my facts, and several messages with people courteously reminding me of the same fact. Aforementioned fact being this: when adults get chicken pox, it is dangerous and life-threatening. I know. I promise you, I'm fully aware of this fact. But I wanted them to be itchy children. They're wizards, okay? They'll get over it. They don't even get pockmarks. Because they're totally cool. Even Vex, who half of you hate and half of you love. For the second half of this chap? Um, I'm sorry. MUAHAHAHAHAHA! I love you guys!!

A/N2: Okay, here's the lineup:

Big Mac Jones/Jag Brick—Beaters

Dace Mentose/Elvin Founder—Chasers

Rae Scarze—Seeker

I threw my duffle down on the floor next to the bed and groaned, letting my body fall onto the squishy mattress. I heard a thump on the other bed as Oliver mimicked me. We were at some nice hotel in Paris, on our every-lovely conference tour. I have come to hate talking to reporters. Very much.

And if one more bleach-blonde reporter asks me what I use to dye my hair, I'm going to scream.

For the record, I don't dye my hair.

And I miss Vex. He's visited me a couple times, but good lord, I miss having a hands-on snog partner. And I mean that in the most innocent way possible.

Sort of.

"Oliver, I want to go home."

I heard him sigh into the mattress. "Two more weeks," he promised. "Then we can go home and raid our parents' fridges."

"Mmm, food." Sure, we'd been eating the high life, but really, there's nothing like homemade meals. Which meant that we were going to go home sometime and let our Mommies take care of us. Thinking about my family made me momentarily selfless, so I got up and sat down next to Oliver, who was still lying face-down, and began massaging his back for him.

He groaned. "Katie, I _love_ you," he assured me sincerely.

"I know," I yawned. Then I felt an impish grin curling my lips. "So, Ollie, any of these pretty little French girls catching your eye. 'Oh, mizter Wood, I juzt _love_ your ztyle'!" I mimicked, snickering.

Oliver rolled over and looked at me intently. "No," he said softly, touching my chin. "None of them could compare." Then he stood and disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him and turning on the shower.

I released a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. None of them could compare to _what?_ _What?_ I pulled off my blouse and tossed it on the floor. Ugh, I've always been so bad at the whole cryptic-speaking type thing. Ange or 'Licia would know, but they aren't here. Who would know? The answer popped into my mind instantly. Rae!

I jumped up and headed to the door, then I realized that I wasn't wearing my shirt any longer. Damn nervous/frustrated/whatever stripping! Rolling my eyes at myself, I pulled my shirt back on over my jeans and buttoned it again.

Then I raced down the hall to Rae's room and yanked open her door without thinking. "Oh!" The little sound of surprise popped out of my mouth before I could stop it. There was Rae. On the couch. Under a shirtless someone with an _unmistakable_ head of white-blonde hair. Since it didn't look like it was going to take them long to strip completely, I let the door slam shut before they could look up to see who was standing there and ran back to my room. Once there, I dissolved into laughter, all of my previous concerns replaced by amusement. Rae! Raelyn-princess-freaking-Scarze! And my beloved, darling, _innocent,_ quiet Eric! Was that even… possible?

Oliver walked out of the bathroom wearing a towel, having apparently showered at warp speed. He looked at me for a moment. "What's so funny?"

Good, if he was going to act like he hadn't gone all creepily cryptic on me, I was going to ignore it, too. "Rae and Eric!" I gasped out.

He looked confused. "What about them?"

"Together!" He continued to stare at me blankly. "In her room—on the couch—in the X-rated sort of way!"

His eyes widened. "No!" I nodded. "How do you know?"

"I went to go… ah… talk to her, and, well…"

He laughed. "Elvin—really!" He sat down next to me. "Man, I've played with those two for almost four years now, and I never…"

"I know!"

"You realize," he said solemnly. "That we now have no choice but to mock them openly and blatantly."

I nodded just as solemnly. "Fred and George would be proud of you, Oliver. Very proud."

"And I always swore that I'd never let them rub off on me." He shook his head hopelessly. "I'm afraid that I'm losing my credibility as Quidditch Nazi."

"If it makes you feel better, I'll never tell them," I promised. He looked pointedly at my crossed fingers and raised an eyebrow. I smiled sheepishly. "Well, it was worth a shot, don't you think?"

Oliver rolled his eyes and said something vague about saving my soul from 'those red-headed demonspawn clones'. I could only laugh.

.xXx.

I grinned at the giant mirror with something like smug elation. The closet had one of those sliding mirror-door things, in which I was appraising myself in my attire for the evening. I was wearing a pair of dark new jeans and a silky black halter top. The reason for the smug elation? I'd bought the halter top half a year ago, but it was a bit too small. The next size up was too big to be attractive, and I _really_ wanted it, so I bought it anyways, in hopes that it might eventually fit. And—thanks to our grueling Quidditch schedule and a week of chicken pox, in which I ate practically nothing—it fit.

I'll admit that I'm not a skinny woman—that's Alicia—but I'm not boyishly-figured, like Ange. I'm athletic, but I've still got curves. And as all curvy women know, curves come with the obligatory belly-paunch, unless you're one of the Chosen Ones who get to be perfect. Or you've had some 'work' done. That's just the way life goes. But at the moment, I don't give a damn, 'cos my said belly-paunch has slimmed down enough that I can wear this bloody shirt! Ha freaking ha!

Oliver came out of the bathroom, dressed in black slacks and a white button-up. Sigh. Why does it take him three minutes to look like a bloody _god_ when it takes me near an hour to look _decent?_ Boys suck.

…did I just refer to my best friend as a god?

His eyes widened when he saw me.

"Katie… wow. You look… wow." Then he looked puzzled. "Didn't you buy that shirt like six months ago?"

I giggled. "You look great, Ol. Just let me get some shoes on real fast, then I'll be ready to go." I opened my trunk and began digging for my favorite black heels. "We're meeting everyone in the lobby, right?"

"Yeah…"

Ha! Found the little suckers! Score one for Katie Bell, Lead Chaser for Puddlemere United. Haha, I just love saying that. Even if it is only in my head. Good lord, I should really stop talking to myself. He braced me as I pulled the shoes on my feet and buckled the satiny straps.

"Shall we?" I asked, giving my hair one last fluff.

Oliver offered me his hand, palm up, and I didn't hesitate to put my hand in his, feeling his long fingers twine instinctively in mine. I thought about that as we walked to the elevator.

This was new—but in a good way. Oliver and I hadn't held hands since we were children and didn't understand the connotations of it. Holding Oliver's hand made me feel secure, like falling asleep with his arms around me. Secure in a way that… that perhaps I _shouldn't_ feel about my best friend. It made me feel secure beyond Friday nights spent watching old movies and eating popcorn, through jewelry on Valentines' day, into gray hair and rocking chairs. It was a kind of more-than-platonic feeling, and I was pretty sure that it wasn't a good thing for me to be feeling that way. Then, I was also sure that I was reading too much into the whole thing.

For Merlin's sake, Katie, he's just holding your _hand!_ I sighed. Oliver looked down at me curiously, but the escalator doors had opened, and we stepped out into the lobby. I couldn't hold back a smile at the familiar scene before me.

Mac and Jag could have been Fred and George as they stood there, pestering Manning, who was wearing a distinctly annoyed look, quite like McGonagall. Elvin and Dace might have been Ange and 'Licia, talking in low voices and laughing at things we probably didn't want to know. Rae was standing there, slightly apart, Harry's double, viewing them all with an affectionately exasperated gaze. Oliver squeezed my hand, perhaps seeing exactly what I saw.

As we joined the group, Rae glanced at my hand, still wrapped in Oliver's, and winked at me. I smirked back at her and looked pointedly at Elvin. Her face drained of color before turning bright red. We all headed outside, having decided to walk to the restaurant we were eating at for the night. As we filed through the doors, Rae caught my free hand and tugged me to the back of the group.

"Ol," I said quietly. He looked down at me and grinned when he saw Rae pulling on me, then released my hand almost reluctantly.

"So, you and Oliver?" she asked curiously once we had fallen back a bit.

I shook my head vigorously, glancing up at the back of the Scot's head. "No, no, no."

She frowned. "But, he was holding your hand. I assumed…"

I pursed my lips and tried to smother the urge to strip. Public streets—bad idea. "He's just being very confusing all of a sudden. The other day, I asked him if any of these French girls had caught his eye, and he looks at me, all serious, and says 'no, none of them could compare'. Then he just up and leaves! And then we were leaving today, and he just grabs my hand, like it's nothing." I shrugged. "I suppose it _is_ nothing, and I suppose I should _see_ it as nothing. I mean, I'm his best friend, and _really—"_

"Are you in love with him?" she asked me very quietly, so as not to draw attention from our friends.

"WHAT?"

Everyone whirled around and looked at us. Rae waved at them, grinning brightly, and I smiled sheepishly, so they continued on walking. Oliver raised an eyebrow at me, and I stuck my tongue out at him. "Are you in love with him?" she repeated.

"Why does everyone keep asking me that? He's my best friend, for the love of god!"

Her eyes narrowed on my face. "Katie, you know Elvin and I have been friends for years, right?" I nodded. "Not close friends, like you and Oliver, but friends, none the less. But I'd always had a thing for Oliver, as you well know. Once you joined the team, however, it was like the Oliver we all knew—the Oliver that I liked flirting with—disappeared. Without you, he was more distant, intent on Quidditch, shallow, almost a player, taking pretty girls out on dates every weekend." I pretended like I already knew about the player part.

"But once you graduated, he had his Katie back. He's like a totally different person. Actually, he's like a _person,_ rather than an icon. He makes it look like you're the only being on the entire planet he can be human for—a very _good_ human, at that, and maybe you are.

"Your Oliver and the one we're all used to are two totally separate people. I think the team likes this one better, and I do, too. But I want to thank you, because if he'd stayed the same, I wouldn't have been able to realize what I had right under my nose." She looked significantly at Elvin's slim back.

I grinned at this statement, eager to leave the subject of me and Oliver behind. I had no idea where she was going with her speech, and part of me was pretty sure that I didn't _want_ to know. "I don't think anyone saw that one coming," I told her honestly. "You're so… brazen, and Elvin's so quiet. Opposites attract, eh?"

Rae laughed, the sound like tinkling bells. I'm not kidding. I always thought that that was a ridiculous way to describe someone's laugh, and then I met Rae. I swear, this girl is freaking perfect. "Yeah, nice try, Bell. What I'm saying is that it's impossible for any of us not to see how you affect Oliver, and we think he might be in love with you."

I made an oddly strangled gulping sound. "You think—"

"What are you two whispering about back here?" Dace demanded, suddenly right in between us. "Seriously. Secrets are no fun!"

Everyone else was still walking, so Rae replied, "I'm just explaining to Katie how we all think Oliver's in love with her."

"Ah. Well, that's okay, then," he said cheerfully, before trotting to catch up with the guys.

"Everyone?"

"Everyone."

"I don't get how he can be in love with me, though," I protested. "He's my best friend!"

"Which means he knows you better than anyone, and loves you for it anyway."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean he's _in_ love with me!" I snapped. Then a pair of arms wrapped around me.

"We're here, Kates," Oliver said in my ear, supremely oblivious to what Rae and I had just been talking about.

Rae smirked at me again, and I scowled at her as we entered the restaurant and were seated in a gigantic booth. I hate sitting at open tables—the ones with chairs. I just don't do it. I always feel like people are looking at me. Strangely enough, that paranoia started long before I was a Quidditch player. It's just true now. Ugh. People.

Even now, in a different _country,_ people were peering over their dinner partners to look at us. I leaned back against the cushy seat, trying to use Oliver to block me from sight, as he was sitting in the outside seat. Sensing what I was doing, he sat up straighter, which made him take up more room. His hand squeezed my knee reassuringly, but a teasing smile was on his lips as he winked at me.

"So, who's ready to go home?" Mac asked.

Everyone wearily raised their hands. We'd been touring since _two days_ after our last game, which was mid June. It was now early November.

Manning chuckled. "You know, most people would be excited to be seeing all the marvelous sights you guys have seen," he told us, sounding more like a scolding mother than any middle-aged, unmarried man had the right to.

"Yeah, those people you're talking about? They also didn't just get off a grueling year of Quidditch, nor are they bombarded by hundreds of fans wherever they go," Dace retorted morbidly. "And being outside of England just means that all of those fans speak different languages, which can get _really_ confusing."

"Apparently it's not _that_ bad," Elvin said in his deceptively quiet way. "Because, unless I'm mistaken, there were some pretty loud French-accented screams coming from your room last night."

Of course, we all went, "Ohhhhhhh!"

Dace just smirked back at our fellow Chaser. "Do you really want me to explain who the screams coming from _your_ room sounded like?" he asked coolly.

I couldn't help giggling at the flush spreading over Elvin's face, and suddenly we were all laughing. Elvin even hooked his arm around Rae, pulling her against his side. Still laughing, she kissed his cheek. Once we had all quieted down, the pair looked slowly to Coach.

Manning shook his head. "Just keep it off the Pitch." We cheered then, all of us reaching over each other to punch Elvin on the arm or pat Rae on the head. By the time we sat back down, calmer, Rae was glowing and Elvin was scowling and rubbing his arms.

"You know what, Eric?" I asked.

Now he scowled directly at me. "What?"

"Since you're now dating Rae, who I love and respect, I think I'll stop calling you Eric."

"Really?" he asked, despite Jag's comment of, "I think they're doing _more_ than dating, actually…"

I nodded. "Yup. I think I'll have to take it back down to Vinnie."

He rolled his eyes, and Mac let out a bark of laughter. "Fine," he grumbled. "Anything's got to be better than Eric!"

"Well, she could have called you shnookums, or something…" Dace ducked the cloth napkin that was launched in his direction.

"But that wouldn't make any sense," I reminded him.

"Neither did Eric," Manning pointed out.

"It did, too!"

"Only in _your_ head, Bell," Oliver told me.

I made a face at him. "Prat."

"You're the one who lives with me."

I snorted. "As if you could function without me around!"

"I managed just fine for three years."

"And the moment I set foot out of Hogwarts, you kidnapped me and forced me to join this whacked Quidditch team."

"You agreed to join," he said, laughter in his eyes.

"You made me do it!"

"And how did I do that, pray tell?"

"You used your damn Scottish accent," I said.

"What's my accent got to do with anything?" he wanted to know.

"Well, it's all… Scottish and everything! With a voice like yours, you could make a stone wall dance the hula if you asked it!"

"Really, Kates. A stone wall dancing the hula? That's nearly as bad as calling Elvin, Eric."

"I'm telling you, that one made sense," I muttered rebelliously.

"Sure it did."

"Admit it, Oliver. If I weren't here, you don't know what you'd do with yourself."

"…which is how this whole thing got started in the first place!"

I blinked. "Oh."

Laughing, Oliver tussled my hair, during which I tried my best to fend him off. As I glowered at him, straightening my hair, we both seemed to realize that our table was otherwise silent… Everyone was watching us like we were the most fascinating thing in the whole damned world. As we stared at them, they all grinned like Cheshire cats.

"You two are so cute," Rae sighed.

Oliver and I both recoiled from her words. "Cute?" he spluttered, breathing quickly. Elvin instinctively leaned forward, placing himself between Oliver and Rae. _"Cute?_ I'll show you cute, Rae. I will _show_ you cute!"

"Oliver, breathe," Manning ordered. "Just breathe—slowly." Obediently, Oliver sucked in a bellyful of air and slowly let it out through his nose. "And again." He repeated the process. "All right." Wow, this man is good. I guess you have to be, dealing with testosterone-driven males most of the time. "Now chill. I don't see what the big deal is. We all know that you and Katie aren't, ah," he seemed at a loss for words. _"Like that."_ Oh, real mature Coachie. "So there's no reason to get worked up about it. Right, team?"

"Yes, Coach," everyone chorused. And then I passed out.

A few minutes later, once Rae used a quick under-the-table _enervate_ to rejuvenate me, we decided that while Manning was telling Oliver to breathe and everything, I _wasn't_ breathing. Good job, Bell. Good freaking job. I thought Mac and Jag were going to have aneurysms. Seriously, those two turned purple laughing so hard. God, I miss Ange and 'Licia. _They_ didn't think it was hilarious every time I had a mishap. Then I thought back to the Flaming Marshmallow Incident. Scratch that. So everyone thinks my mishaps are funny. Good to know.

Dinner went fairly smoothly, except for the part where some French guy came up and started talking to Rae and me. In French. And he seemed _completely_ aware that neither of us knew French. And I'm kinda glad that I don't, because whatever he was saying oh-so-dreamily was making a couple of girls in a table near us blush and giggle. Eventually, combined English threats in impossible-to-mistake-as-anything-but-threatening tones from our male team counterparts chased him off.

Back at the hotel, we all said our goodnights in the hallway, and Rae gave me a pointed look before disappearing into her room. Elvin would probably join her, or vice-versa, as soon as we all cleared the hall. I glared at her retreating back as Oliver let us into our own room.

I ducked into the bathroom quickly, and when I came out, Oliver was stretched out on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. "Some night, huh?" he asked.

I let my eyes wander over the familiar features of my best friend. "Some night," I agreed. A helluva night, actually, and you don't even know the half of it, my dear boy. I yawned and grabbed my pajamas, using my closet to change. When I came out, he was already in his pajamas, brushing his teeth. So we stood side-by-side in the bathroom, getting ready for bed, just as we did nearly every night. It felt so _familiar_ to me. This was how I always wanted it to be: me and Oliver. This was how it had always _been._

Wouldn't I have noticed if something had changed? Wouldn't I have noticed if Oliver had fallen in love with me? I mean, if he'd fallen in love with me, _something_ would have changed, surely. But everything felt just like it always had. Didn't it?

Ugh, I'm just giving myself a headache with all this crap, and meanwhile, Oliver's finished, and I'm standing here, staring at my own reflection with my toothbrush in my mouth, mentally arguing through an insane conversation with myself. Irritated, I flicked the light off and crawled into bed. Once I was settled, Oliver turned off the lamp.

"Night, Kates."

"Night, Ol." Wait. Why don't I just ask him? Katie, you are a lunatic—why didn't you think of this earlier? "Hey Ol?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you—well, do you—" Ha… ha… yeah, apparently I can't ask him about this. Well, that's a bitch. Man, I think that's the first time that's ever happened to me. Seriously, I've always been able to ask Oliver _anything._ This is not cool on so many levels. But why can't I ask him? Is it that I don't want to know the answer? Or am I afraid of the answer? Wow, what do I _want_ the answer to be? Do I want Oliver to be in love with me?

"Katie?" he was propped himself up on his elbow to look at me in the dim moonlight, his voice concerned. Right, I forgot I was talking to him.

"Er—never mind. Good night, Oliver."

"Sleep tight," he replied, a little disgruntled.

That's it. I'm just forgetting the whole thing. Rae's a gossip queen who talks too much and I read too far into things. I'm just freaking myself out with the whole mess and likely scaring Oliver with my spacey-ness. I sighed loudly.

"Kates? Are you okay?" I played the words over in my head for a moment, drenched as they were in his lovely Scottish accent. In response, I stood and crossed the room, crawling into the wide hotel bed with him. Somehow, after just a few nights of use, it smelled like Oliver. He pulled me into his arms and I pressed my face against my chest. "What's wrong?"

"Just a little homesick, I guess," I said, my voice muffled.

"You never could lie to me, you know. Not even in the dark when I can't see your face."

I winced. "You don't want to know."

"Katie…" he trailed off with a sigh and settled back against the pillows. A few minutes later, his even breathing told me he was asleep. I, however, was wired. I had to move.

I stood and crossed the dark flat, stripping my pajamas, and pulled on shorts with a green jumper. I stuffed my feet into a pair of black trainers and slipped my wand up my sleeve. Without making a sound, I left the room and trotted down to the hotel lobby.

Out on the dark streets, I bent down and touched my toes, then took off at a careful jog. The whisper of my trainers on the damp sidewalk was almost inaudible, and counted my steps in eight paces. What was I going to do about Oliver? Was there anything _to_ do?

I tripped, making an 'oof' sound as I landed flat out on the sidewalk. I was still for a moment before picking myself back up, my hands and knees stinging. Standing up, I brushed off the scraped heels of my hands and my marked knees. My chin ached—I had bumped it on the cement. I rubbed it with the back of my hand and it came away bloodied.

Okay, I should have learned long before that if I was going to walk—let alone run—I should focus entirely on that movement. No extracurricular activities allowed. Like thinking. Besides, thinking about Oliver so much was making my head hurt. Or was it my heart?

But I knew just the solution.

Without so much as thinking of the time, I Apparated to Vex's apartment. I didn't care what I was doing—I pounded on the door. After a moment of thumping on the solid wood, Vex yanked the door open.

"Who—oh Katie, it's you." He looked at me. "What—uh—happened to you?" His eyes flickered to the flat behind him.

I raised my eyebrows. "Can I come in?"

He stared at me for a brief moment. "Are you serious?"

"Vex—"

"Are you bloody serious? It's two a.m!"

"But—" I stopped midsentence. My eyes widened. "No way." He was not turning this around on me. "You bloody whore!"

I pushed past him before he knew what I was doing. "Katie, stop! What are you—"

I flung open his bedroom door. The bleach blonde girl lying on the bed screamed when she saw me. I rolled my eyes at her dramatics and turned to face Vex, who was very pale.

"Would you do me the small favor of explaining, perhaps?" I asked dryly, going into a sort of numb autopilot.

"Well, you know, it's not like you're my _girlfriend _or anything," he stuttered.

"Ah, so just because we're only dating, you can have all the cute little sex kittens you want? Well, that makes sense. Good night then, to the both of you."

I turned and left, but I could feel Vex close behind me. "Katie…" he tried.

At the door, I whirled to face him. "Good night, Vex," I said pleasantly. "If you have _any_ sort of pride, I suggest you leave me alone, or your girl there is going to see me kick your ass. Unless she's into the whole dominance thing, it probably won't be good for your sex life, you know?" I turned again, and he grabbed me by the tops of my arms—harder than he probably meant to.

"Come on, Katie. We've got a good thing going. Do you really want to trash it like this?"

"Oh, please tell me you're not serious! Really Vex, don't insult me—I might have to hurt you."

"Katie—"

I hauled around and punched him. "I'm serious as hell, Shanlow." I pretended like my knuckles weren't killing me. I pretended like I wasn't hurt. I pretended like I'd never cared about him. "From now on, our relationship is strictly on the Pitch. You know, where my team kicks your team's arse. Now go sleep with your whore-girl." I stepped through the door and Apparated to the hotel room, letting myself in sleepily. I dropped onto the bed beside Oliver carefully, trying not to wake him. I lay down, copying my earlier position.

I was asleep the moment my head touched Oliver's chest.

.qQq.

As Oliver stirred, I woke stiffly. I could feel dried blood on my chin and streaks of it down my neck to my chest, a bruise spreading across aforementioned chin, and my scraped knees were bruised from the fall. Oliver did a double-take, alarmed.

"Katie, what happened?" he demanded. I spread my hands out in front of me, admiring the bruise-darkened knuckles of my right hand.

"Went and stopped by Vex's. Things got a little heated."

"He hit you?" Oliver roared, outraged.

I blinked. Oh. "No, no," I assured him. "The bruises are from falling down. I hit _him."_

He took my good hand and massaged it gently. "What happened?"

"I couldn't sleep, so I went to go see Vex, and his little sex kitten was there. It wasn't pretty."

Oliver groaned. "I can't say that I'm sorry he's gone, but I'm sorry he was an ass. Now let's get you cleaned up, okay?" He slipped an arm around my back and an arm under my knees, picking me up like a child.

In the bathroom, he set me down on the counter next to the sink, then wet a hand towel. I pulled off my jumper so that it wouldn't get wet, and Oliver started cleaning the dried blood from my skin. I was watching his face—his eyebrows were drawn together slightly in concern and concentration, his eyes sharp on my chin. Because of this, I saw the moment his jaw tensed. He dropped the washcloth and gently took my arm.

"Did the ground do _this_ to you, as well?" he demanded, his voice trembling with inner turmoil.

Confused, I looked down at my arm, and my eyes widened. There were purple marks on my skin—purple marks in the perfect shape of Vex's fingers. His eyes traveled from one arm to another. "Oh."

Oliver swore and dropped my arm, taking a step back. "I'm going to kill him."

"Come on, Oliver, it's nothing big. He just—"

"What, he just grabbed you hard enough to bruise your sodding arms?" he demanded. "He needs to be taught a lesson, Katie."

"Then let someone else teach it to him," I said softly. "I don't need you getting into it with him, Ol. You're better than that."

He kept his eyes on me for a minute. "Dammit Bell, you're going to be the death of me, I swear you will."

"Actually, I seem to be the only thing keeping you alive," I corrected.

He laughed, his voice a little rough from tension. "God knows I love you, Katie."

"Good, 'cos I don't think anyone else does," I teased, glad to have called the hounds off for the moment.


	12. In Which Katie Has a Shocking Epiphany

"I hate Coachie, I hate Coachie," I sang morbidly, in my stuffed-up voice

A/N: I know. I'm a bad person for not updating. There is no excuse. You know, besides final exams, massive projects, and saddle breaking my new colt. Please don't hurt me! But now school is out. Yaaay!

Disclaimer/Quote: So my ag teacher, another FFA kid, and I went to a lamb auction, which meant we spent like three hours in the car together… each way. My ag teacher has terrible roadrage, and there was this big line of cars in front of us, barely crawling. At last, Mr. Gravell sighs, irritated, and pulls his truck off the road, flooring it past the line of cars. As we pull back onto the road, he looks behind him and says, "Oh. I think that was a funeral procession." Jessi cracks up, and I shake my head and say, "Mr. Gravell, you are _so_ going to hell for that."

Don't even make me bring Jo into that one.

A/N: Okay, here's the lineup:

Big Mac Jones/Jag Brick—Beaters

Dace Mentose/Elvin Founder—Chasers

Rae Scarze—Seeker

Wearily, I trudged through our flat door, letting Oliver close it behind me. I waved my wand, which courteously carried my bags into my room and began sorting my clothing for me. Then I collapsed onto the couch. Oliver collapsed on top of me.

"Get. Your arse. _Off."_ I ordered, my face pressed against the cushions.

"I can't," he said, sliding his arms around me. I groaned in annoyance. "Oh Katie, I can't tell you how long I've waited to have you moaning under me," he teased, nestling his face into the back of my shoulder.

"Oliver, you are a prat. Now get your fat arse off of me!" I snapped, squirming underneath him.

"Aw Kates, I thought Manning had worked my arse off in practice. It has certainly been good for yours." I felt my mouth drop open. "Oh my god, you should see your face!"

"You've been looking at my arse?"

"Well, you have to admit that you sort of stick it out there," he informed me.

"You've been looking at my _arse!"_

"And it's been looking pretty damn good." He sat up, pulling me into a sitting position beside him.

"You're cheeky and Scottish," I said with a sigh, leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees, propping my chin in my hands. I stared at the wall for a long moment.

"Kates?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you all right?" his voice was concerned.

Startled, I looked up at him. Oliver's eyes were darker than usual, a little worried, and his brow was furrowed. His lips were firmly set, something I knew meant that he was trying to be strong for me. But why?

"Why wouldn't I be?" I asked, honestly confused.

A tentative smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Vex?"

I felt my lips slowly curl into a grin. "Oliver, you think that would seriously upset me?"

"Well, yeah, I guess," he said, looking embarrassed to have brought it up.

I shrugged. "It might have," I admitted. "If I hadn't gotten to punch him."

Oliver laughed. "Katie, I love you."

"Good. Someone's got to," I said mournfully. He looked at me in brief horror, and I burst out laughing. "Jeez, Wood, I was just kidding!"

He made a face. "Eventually you'll learn that some things just aren't funny."

I snickered. "Yeah, but that was. I wish I'd had a camera—that was just bloody priceless!"

Oliver shook his head. "Whatever. I'm going to run out and get some food so we don't starve to death."

"Want me to come with?" I wanted to know.

"Nah. I'll be back in an hour or two."

"All right," I said as he stood and walked back out the door we had so recently walked in. Once he was gone, I shuffled to my room. All of my dresser drawers were open, clothes neatly folding themselves and putting themselves away. In my sock drawer, I caught a glimpse of something that wasn't a sock. Curious, I pulled it out and sat down on my bed.

It was the picture Collin Creevey had taken of Oliver and me the night of our loss to Hufflepuff. I had framed it—don't tell Oliver—and stuffed it in my sock drawer, then forgotten about it. I smiled fondly, touching Oliver's face. He made a sad attempt at a tired grin while I held onto his waist, smiling cheerfully. We looked like wet rats, and that was being generous. Our lips were blue, and I could see the water pooling at our feet. Picture Oliver looked down at me, and I bossily said something to him—probably ordering him upstairs. Still, he brushed my wet hair away from my face and kissed my cheek. I scowled affectionately and pointed at the boys' staircase. As he turned away, the process started over.

Ah, Oliver. My anchor and my hero. My personal pain in the ass. My Quidditch Captain and my Keeper. Arrogant, silly, hardheaded. Sweet, thoughtful, considerate. Saving me as I save him. Pushing me to the edge of insanity and reeling me back just as easily. My best friend.

At that moment, the picture slipped though my fingers and fell to the floor, but did not break. No, we were too tightly knit for that. My lips went numb, and I could feel something like horror on my face. Either that, or it was delight. I couldn't really tell—in this situation, the two emotions were too close. Because I'd realized something. I loved Oliver.

And not in the platonic way.

Oh shit.

With this realization, I panicked. Had this just happened? God, I couldn't discern the time frame. Wouldn't I have noticed if I'd fallen in love with him? That had always been my argument before… how could I not have noticed? This was bad. This was very, very bad. This was we-just-lost-to-Hufflepuff-and-our-Captain's-trying-to-drown-slash-freeze-himself-bad. Actually, this is _worse_ than that, because I could talk about that with Oliver!

I can't even explain how many swear words ran though my mind just then.

I grabbed a quill and a scrap of parchment, scribbled a note, slapped it on the table, and Apparated to Alicia's. She and George were snogging on the couch, but I ruthlessly grabbed one of her hands (quickly disentangling it from George's hair) and side-along Apparated her to Angelina's. Ange was working on a crossword puzzle, and she looked up, startled, when we popped in. I could feel that my eyes were wide and my face was flushed. Alicia's lips were red and swollen, and she looked like a deer in the headlights.

"Katie what the bloody _hell _is wrong with you?" Alicia demanded furiously. "That was a _good_ snog session!"

"What's wrong?" Angelina demanded, looking at me with sharp eyes. I wondered detachedly what my face looked like.

"This is an emergency," I choked out.

Alicia settled down instantly, looking at me for the first time. "Katie, what's wrong?" she asked gently.

I sat down on the floor, pulling my knees up to my chin, and the other two sat down with me. "There's a problem."

"Which is what?" Angelina wanted to know, pushing my hair back from my face. It was too like Picture Oliver's gesture. I buried my face against my knees.

"I think I'm in… _love."_

There was shocked silence for a second. "With who?" Alicia demanded.

"Katie you _just_ broke up with—"

"I'm in love with OLIVER!" I screeched, my voice muffled by my legs.

"Pick your head up," Angelina commanded. "We can't hear you. It almost sounded like you said you were in love with Oliver." She laughed nervously.

Miserably, I looked up at them, bleary-eyed through sudden tears. "That's because I did."

They both gasped, and Alicia's hands flew to her mouth. _"No."_

I nodded. "Yep."

"What… when… _how?"_

"I don't know," I wailed. "It just sort of happened!"

"We told you," Alicia smirked triumphantly.

"You're not helping the situation," Angelina scolded. "Oh honey, what are you going to do?"

"Why the hell do you think I came over here?" I snapped. "I have no sodding _idea_ what I'm going to do! He's my best friend, and my teammate. He's—well, he's bloody _Oliver!"_

"Who coincidentally happens to be in love with you."

"He is not," I muttered rebelliously.

"Why are you so insistent about that?" Angelina wanted to know. "We were right about you, weren't we? Why don't you think we're right about him?"

"Because… because that would be too perfect," I pointed out. "Too fairytale."

Alicia blinked. "Katie, we're _witches._ We _are_ some people's fairytales."

"All right, but what if you're wrong?" I asked. "What if he _doesn't_ love me? Then, not only am I totally crushed and emotionally crippled for life, but Ol would hate me. Or it would at least be totally awkward," I amended.

"So, what, you're going to totally ignore your feelings?"

I bit my lip and nodded valiantly. "Yeah."

"Just pretend like everything's okay?"

"Yes."

"Katie?"

"What?"

"You owe Oliver more than that," Angelina told me, her level brown eyes steady on mine. I swallowed. "He deserves better."

I looked away. "You're right. He _does_ deserve better than that, but he deserves better than me, too."

"No, he doesn't. Don't you see? You're perfect for each other. And Katie—he _wants_ you. Any other man of his status would be shagging fangirls like it was going out of style. But he doesn't want any of them. He wants you." She pointed at me, and I stared at her finger like it was dangerous.

"You have to tell him," Alicia added. "Ange is right—you owe him that, at least."

"I don't know if I can," I whispered.

"You've never had trouble telling him things before."

"This is different," I insisted. "This is laying my heart on the line."

"I know, hon," Ange said gently. "But imagine how worthit it's going to be when you realize he loves you too."

And for a brief second, I could see it. I sort of wanted to laugh and clap… and vomit. Ick. I groaned and hid my face in my knees again.

Ange sighed. "Okay Katie, look at it this way. Have you ever kept a secret from Oliver?"

"No," I replied instantly, knee-jerk reaction. They both looked pointedly at me for a moment, while I tried to see the significance of this. Oh. Oh, damn. "That's not the same."

"Katie."

I took a deep breath. "I don't think I can do it."

"Katie, you decked _Vex Shanlow."_

"So?"

"No girl in her right _mind_ would deck Vex Shanlow, one of the gods of professional Quidditch unless somewhere, deep inside, she realized she had an actual chance with Oliver Wood, _the _god of professional Quidditch."

Angelina and I blinked. "Did that even make any sense?"

"For my purposes, I'm just going to agree with her," Ange said.

"I can't tell him," I insisted. Neither of them replied. I chewed on my thumbnail until Alicia knocked my hand away. "Oh, god… Can I at least wait a little while? I mean, I just came to terms with the fact that these feelings exist at _all._"

"Sure," Alicia said. "But you've got to tell him eventually. Soon."

Angelina smiled encouragingly. "It'll be fine, Katie. Trust us."

I scowled. "Last time I trusted you two, I wound up walking into the Common Room in my knickers, likely scarring the first years for life."

They both busted up. "Oh my god, I'd forgotten about that one!"

Slowly, bracing myself mentally, I stood. "I guess I better go."

"Good luck!" Alicia said brightly.

I probably looked like I was going to meet my executioner. Same thing, actually. "Yeah. Thanks oh so much."

Ange patted me on my head, and I Apparated back to my flat. Oliver looked up from the groceries he was unloading and grinned. "Hey. I was wondering when you would be back. What was that all about?"

I tried to swallow past the lump in my throat. It was approximately the size of a pregnant elephant. "Erghfoolamps," was what came out when I attempted some form of nonchalant speech. Real great, Bell. Freaking fantastic.

The expression on his face changed. His eyebrows drew together and his lips pouted a little. It was his puppydoggish expression of worry. And so adorable.

Great. He's adorable. Why am I so bloody slow on the uptake? "What's wrong, Kates?" The concern in his voice was unparalleled by anything in the world. Why, god, why?

"Ummmm…" I hedged, hoping for some distraction. You know, like a meteor suddenly careening down from space an incinerating the street outside, or Voldemort reincarnating himself and appearing in the kitchen while doing the macarena in a pink hula skirt. Because either of those things would be more rational than what may or may not be happening between Oliver and me in that moment.

He crossed the kitchen in three long strides and took my face in his hands. His callused thumbs softly brushed my cheeks. His face was inches from mine… just a kiss's reach away. "What's wrong?" His breath touched my lips, which I had just wet. Suddenly my mouth was drier than the Sahara.

I closed my eyes—I couldn't think with his chestnut eyes searching mine so intently. I took a deep breath and slowly let it out. He didn't move so much as an inch. When I looked again, his expression was still imploring, curious. "Oliver?" I sounded tentative, so I cleared my throat and tried again. "Oliver. I think we need to talk."

I couldn't wait, after all.

In fact, deep down, I think I knew I'd already waited more than long enough. Ready or not, this was it. I opened my mouth to continue, but he beat me to it.

"I agree," he said seriously, stepping back a little. "But I have a feeling that we want to talk about very different things."

I shrank back a little. "Um, why don't you go first?"

Suddenly, his expression was bleak. "You first. I don't know how much you'll want to talk to me once I tell you."

Instantly, my heart was racing. Did he know, then? He knew I liked him, and he was going to tell me that he didn't feel the same? He was going to tell me that we couldn't be friends, or couldn't live together anymore… couldn't play on the same team. I would have to fly for the Wasps, or _worse,_ the Falcons. Oh god. I mean, we might have to form totally different circles of friends—I'd take Ange and Licia, and he'd take Fred and George, but I call Harry. Maybe we can have joint custody. We'd become totally estranged, and maybe we'd meet fifty years down the road, all old and wrinkly, and not even speak to each other, because he'd wonder if I still liked him.

…why is he staring at me like that? I blinked furiously, coming back into the real world. "Sorry, what was that?"

A tiny smile just touched the corner of his mouth. It looked… uncertain. Oliver was _never_ uncertain. "Katie, I said… I said I think I'm in love with you."

If the aforementioned meteor or dancing macarena/hula Voldemort appeared, I doubt I would have been more shocked than I was in that moment. It was several seconds before my heart remembered how to beat, and several more seconds after that before I remembered that breathing was a crucial exercise. I worked my jaw soundlessly for a moment.

During all of this, Oliver watched me with infallible patience. He was steady as a rock, waiting for whatever answer I would give. Suddenly, all of my fears seemed completely silly. Oliver would never abandon me.

Eventually, a sound made its way out of my throat. "I… I…"

A/N: What cliffie?


	13. WARNING: Snogging May Occur!

"I hate Coachie, I hate Coachie," I sang morbidly, in my stuffed-up voice

A/N: Anonymous Crank, thanks for catching my fumble in chapter 11! I fixed it. And everyone else, thanks for your lovely reviews! Oh my goodness, there were so many, I was squealing with excitement. It was unattractive.

A/N2: I apologize already for the shortness of this chapter, but come on, I posted last night!

A/N3: Several of you have noted your concern about the ending of this fic. Let me ease your fears here: I don't plan to end this story any time soon. I really sort of adore Katie and Oliver, particularly _this_ Katie and Oliver. I already have plans for what happens next… and for a teaser of how long I'm going to carry this out:

"Bloody hell!"

"Is it happening again?"

"Look at my stomach! Oliver, you're not allowed to talk about Quidditch. You either, Katie."

"Come on, Ange, that's not fair."

"No! These little miscreants are playing Quidditch in my womb, and that didn't start until Oliver started telling them about flying."

Disclaimer/Quote:

Kylan: I really want a Fresca.

Me: I really want to roundhouse kick someone in the face.

True story

A/N: Okay, here's the lineup:

Big Mac Jones/Jag Brick—Beaters

Dace Mentose/Elvin Founder—Chasers

Rae Scarze—Seeker

They say that we love with our hearts because our hearts are what keep us alive. They are the centers of our being. When someone has a broken heart, they feel as if they are going to die, because their heart has stopped functioning correctly. Like we can't live without the person who broke our heart. Funny, the things love can do to us.

How odd that I should think if this now, while I stood there, still attempting to speak. Oliver was looking at me with adoring patience, wearing his heart on his sleeve. His face, as always, was easy for me to read, and it promised that he would accept whatever I said. If I told him right here, right now, that I didn't love him, he would tell me that it was okay, and he would continue on with our life. He would put on a brave face for me, like he always did, even if I was the one causing him pain.

He loved me so much that he would allow me to break his heart. He wouldn't even make me feel guilty about it.

A crueler person than me might have done it, too. Love was difficult, I knew that well enough. A coward might have taken the easy way out. But I loved Oliver too much to hurt him like that.

Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe we were doomed to ruin our friendship like this. Maybe it was just our hormones talking.

But maybe it wasn't. Maybe this was true, head-over-heels, kiss-me-in-the-rain, hold-my-hand, there-goes-a-shooting-star, fairytale love.

Either way, I wasn't going to miss the chance.

Finally, I took a deep breath and tried to bring some moisture into my mouth. "I think I'm in love with you, too."

For a moment, he didn't move. Oliver just stood there, is expression still carefully arranged, his chestnut eyes staring into mine. He looked as if someone had cast a freezing charm on him. I quickly became concerned.

"Oliver? Ol?"

He held up one finger, a gesture urging me to hold on for a second. After another moment, he came to live, blinking. _"What_ did you just say?" he demanded.

I somehow managed to smile a little. "I love you, Oliver Wood. Call me crazy, god knows everyone else will, but I do."

A bright, boyish grin stretched over his features. "You know, this worked out much better than I expected." I giggled, and he stepped forward to wrap his arms around me. I pressed my face into his shoulder. "Damn, Katie. How did this happen?" His voice was soft as he spoke in my ear.

I shrugged. "Oh, you know. Fate or something."

"Katie?"

"Yeah, Ol?"

"Look at me."

I pulled my head back to look up a few inches into his eyes. His features were no longer cautious, patient. Now they were lit up like the sun, infectiously happy. An identical smile began on my lips in response. But that wasn't why he wanted me to look at him. His hands tenderly cupped my face, and my eyes closed as he leaned forward, as much as I hated to lose the sight of him.

Oliver's kiss was… well, it was the essence of Oliver. He was as careful and gentle as ever, with an underlying passion and strength.

Oh my god, I'm kissing _Oliver._ I smiled a little against his lips as they glided over mine, and I felt him smile in response. Instantly, I thought of that time Vex kissed me and I thought of Oliver. I realized that I was thinking about kissing Vex while thinking of kissing Oliver while I was kissing Oliver. Then I decided to just think about kissing Oliver, which I was currently doing.

Eventually, we were forced to pull away for air. How silly to think that I still needed something at trivial as _air_. It seemed like my love for Oliver was all I needed to survive. Wow. Angelina and Alicia would have appreciated that sentence. So, come to think of it, would Rae. I groaned, and his brows drew together.

"What's wrong?"

I buried my face against his neck. "You get to tell Manning." My voice was muffled, but I knew he heard me just fine.

"Oh dear god." He seemed to think about our situation for a minute. "But that can wait until tomorrow. I can think of something much better to do right now." The tone of his voice caused me to look up at him.

"Oh really?" I teased. "And what's—"

Naturally, he didn't allow me to finish that sentence. Instead, we staggered over to the couch for a comfortable and convenient snogging surface.

And guess what. I didn't fall down.


	14. Making Coach Cry

"I hate Coachie, I hate Coachie," I sang morbidly, in my stuffed-up voice

A/N: Thanks, once again, for all of the lovely reviews!! Also, forgive my spelling of Sleekeazy—I don't have my book with me, and I don't get home for two more weeks. I didn't want you to have to wait that long for me to look it up, especially since I've finished the chapter already. If one of you could tell me the actual spelling in a review, I'll be more than happy to fix it. Thanks loads!

Disclaimer/Quote: Ugh, so I'm sitting in an airport in freaking LA and dying from smog inhalation. Why? Because our flight to Montana got canceled. Do you know what my flight plan looks like now? Texas to LA to freaking _Washington,_ where I have to drive to Montana, my actual destination. Freaking crap. Talk about roundabout.

A/N: Okay, here's the lineup:

Big Mac Jones/Jag Brick—Beaters

Dace Mentose/Elvin Founder—Chasers

Rae Scarze—Seeker

I blinked Angelina, who was bright-eyed and clutching at Alicia's hand excitedly. Alicia, too, was grinning at me widely. "Can you believe it?" they asked together, then giggled wildly.

Finally, I found my tongue. "Congratulations! Man, I always figured Alicia would be the first one to have kids."

Ange shrugged and placed her hand self-consciously on her flat stomach. "Yeah, me too. Not that I'm complaining, of course." She smirked. "Besides, now he's going to have to marry me, sooner or later."

I laughed. "Ange, he was _always_ going to marry you."

"As we've been saying since, oh, first year," Alicia teased.

She made a face. "Oh, shut up. Anyway, what is it you wanted to tell us?"

I froze. Oh, right. There was a purpose to this visit before I found out Ange was pregnant. Okay, here it gooooooes. I gave them a sheepish smile. "Um, well, my news isn't nearly as awesome as yours. Nowhere near as monumental. Uh…" They both watched me like hawks. From their expressions, I realized that they had no idea where this was going. That must be a first. "I'm not sure how—"

"Katie, just spit it out!"

"OliverandIaresnogginglikethere's_noooo_tomorrow."

They stared at me blankly. Wow, I definitely didn't mean to say that. I was going for something more along the lines of 'Oliver and I are dating'. Why does this sort of thing always happen to me? Holy pineapples.

"Katie," Alicia said carefully. "Did you just say what I think you said?"

"Possibly," I said in a very small voice.

My two friends exchanged a long look. Then they both lunged at me, throwing their arms around me and squealing. It was several minutes before they were calm enough to be coherent. Then they were just impossibly smug.

"Told you so," Ange gloated, looking like the cat who ate the canary.

I pouted and crossed my arms defensively. "So?"

Alicia snickered. "Katie, you're so blonde."

Sadly, I couldn't even argue with her this time.

.xXx.

Quidditch practices weren't as grueling and constant as in-season, but they weren't exactly rare. That meant that Oliver and I had precious few days before it was time to bite the bullet. "So, how do you suppose we should do this?" I asked as we gathered our gear before practice.

He thoughtfully chewed on his lip. "Wimbourne Wasp style."

I nodded. "Direct course of action. Good idea. What's a direct course of action for this?"

"Well, the way I see it, we can either snog on the benches in the locker room after practice, or just tell them."

I smirked. "How about both?"

Oliver grinned. "I like both. Both is good."

I took a deep breath. "Ready, then?"

He took my hand and gave me a lingering kiss. "Sure."

In the locker room, we all strapped on our gear while Manning sat with us and told us how he wasn't going to let us get soft over the off-season. "So, Wood," I said, loud enough for everyone to hear, as I leaned into my locker to get my wrist guards.

"Yeah, Bell?"

"What do you want to do after practice?"

"Oh, I dunno. How does a good snog on the benches sound?"

"Sounds great."

Dead silence echoed. Big Mac burst out laughing. "God, that was so…" At the looks on our faces, he trailed off. "You two are serious."

"Yep."

"Thank _god,"_ Rae said, grabbing my arm. "Took you bloody long enough!"

"Shut up, Rae," I grumbled half-heartedly.

"Wait, am I the only one who didn't see this coming?" Elvin asked, looking shell-shocked.

Jag laughed. "Pretty much, man. What, did you walk around with your eyes closed?"

"No, I was, um, _distracted…"_ he glanced at Rae and we all rolled our eyes.

Suddenly, I remembered that there was a really important part to this whole confession thing, and I looked at Manning. Oliver was already staring at our coach in consternation. Clayton Manning, coach and manager of the Puddlemere United Quidditch team, was _crying._ Not, like, hard-core sobbing, but there were actual tears running down his face. Everyone froze.

"Um, Coachie?" I said tentatively.

"I can't win," he said. "No matter what I do, you all are bent on ruining me! My nerves can NOT handle this, kids!"

My lips trembled with the effort to hold back laughter. Jag and Mac both broke out into loud "coughs". Oliver's features were horribly contorted—and yet still somehow gorgeous, mind you—in an attempt to maintain a straight face.

"Does that mean I can date Oliver?" I asked innocently.

With that, everyone's self-control shattered. The locker room echoed with raucous laughter. Manning stared at me with wide eyes for a moment, before giving over to the hilarity of the situation. Either that or he was just bloody hysterical. In all of this, Oliver waded through our team until he made it to me. Then he took me in his arms and leaned me backwards, kissing me dramatically. The laughter turned into catcalls and applause.

At last, somewhat under control, we headed out for practice.

Unfortunately, Manning forbid us to snog on the benches. So we went home and snogged on the kitchen table, which was somehow even more satisfying.

.xXx.

One of the biggest things about my relationship with Oliver—one of the things that I so deeply appreciated, and always had—was how easy it was. It was like breathing. With the few boyfriends I'd had, I'd had to _work_. I had to think about what I was going to do and say… that was why I'd had so few relationships.

But with Oliver, things were totally different. Grabbing his hand, or wrapping my arms around his waist, teasing him about the faces he made when he was shaving, was all second nature—or, arguably, first nature.

This was why, I believe, it was never weird. By all rights, there probably should have been some sort of awkward transition phase, from friends to couple. You know, moments where we weren't sure exactly what to say, worried that our words might not fit into our new role, or where one of us would kiss the other and the kissed person would totally freeze before remembering that we're allowed to do that now…

But it never happened. Oliver and I made this transition as smooth as Sleekeazy's. It was sort of ridiculous. One day we were best friends, the next we were dating. The end, no big deal, no huge drama.

Which means that when I woke up at 1:36 in the morning, unable to go back to sleep, I didn't hesitate to go crawl in bed with Oliver. I could hear countless voices in my head (Alicia, Ange, Rae, Fred, George, take your pick) smirking and reminding me that sleeping with Oliver now had _totally_ different connotations, and my mother probably would not approve of me sleeping with a boyfriend so soon into our relationship.

Oh, my mother. Remind me to expand on that one later.

Back to the sleeping issue. Like I said, I don't have a problem with it. So, wearing my pajama shorts and one of Oliver's old t-shirts, I stumbled across our dark flat, stubbing my toes against the wall, and slipped into Oliver's bed. He woke up as I arranged myself against him.

"Kates?" his voice was rusty with sleep.

"Hi, Ol," I said cheerfully, snuggling against his chest. His response was to draw me closer, an invitation which I gratefully took.

"Nightmare?"

"Nope. Just can't sleep. And I felt like taking advantage of the fact that you're not wearing a shirt." I _love_ nights when he doesn't sleep with a shirt on. Like, seriously. What could be better than forging your way across a dark and dangerous flat, only to reach the end of your journey, victorious, and find that your prize is a shirtless Oliver Wood? God, I love being me.

"Is that so?" I could hear the smile in his voice, which no longer hinted at sleep in any form or fashion. "Well, Miss Bell, it just so happens that I can think of a few things to do that utilize your insomnia _and_ my lack of clothing."

"Really?" I asked, pretending shock. "What on _earth_ could that be?"

His lips descending on mine, warm and soft, reminded me once again how much I love my life. I mean, living with Oliver as my best friend was great. Better than most people get. I was still the one who got to curl up against his chest late at night, the one he sang to sleep, and all that jazz. But dating Oliver blows all that away. Because when I was just living with Oliver, I didn't get to snog him at ungodly hours of the night. Or on the kitchen table. Or on top of the washing machine. Or up against his closet wall. I think you get the point.

His callused hands wove through my hair, and I teasingly traced my fingers down his bare back. Seriously, life does not get better than this. Oh, wait. I moved my right hand around and maneuvered it between us so I could feel his lovely, perfect abs. _Now_ it can't possibly get better. Talk about heaven on earth, because I've found it.

Later, as I was falling asleep next to him, I thought about my mother. Not so much my mother, as when we were going to tell our families. The following weekend, Oliver and I were scheduled to go home and spend a few days with our parents and Blake.

Obviously, we were going to have to tell them. However, we figured it would be less of a shock if we waited at least a day. Come on, our families hadn't seen us in _forever,_ and we didn't want to just show up and greet them with "Oh hi, by the way, we're head over heels in love with each other."

Of course, they'd probably been expecting it much as everyone else had, but still. We didn't want to be the cause of any heart attacks in our direct family, you know? So our plan was to just chill for a day or two, and eventually bring up the whole hey-guess-what-we're-freaking-Romeo-and-Juliet-with-a-happy-ending thing. And keep St. Mungo's on speed dial. Yeah.

I stretched my chin up a little to kiss Oliver's neck. The flat was almost black as pitch, but I could just make out the fact that he was smiling in his sleep.

Damn, I loved this boy.


	15. Pash Rash

"I hate Coachie, I hate Coachie," I sang morbidly, in my stuffed-up voice

A/N: I know, I know, I'm a terrible updater. Worse than that? Marching band starts hard-core in like three days. Sorry, loves.

For those of you who don't know, pash rash is the equivalent of beard burn, only a much cooler way to say it. Basically, when you snog a guy who's got stubble, you can get all these minute little scratches over your cheeks, chin, throat, etc. Very annoying, but only slightly painful, fairly visible, and entirely indicative of what you've been doing.

Disclaimer/Quote: Um, band kids pretty much all joke about our relationships each other, and I was teasing my boyfriend about his "relationship" with Wes (trumpet), because the three of us joke about it all the time.

Daniel: Nah, me and Wes broke up.

Me: Really, now?

Daniel: Yeah, now we're just friends with benefits.

(a few minutes later, Wes walks in)

Me: Hey Wes, I heard you and Daniel broke up. I'm real sorry about that, and I want you to know that you can cry on my shoulder any time.

Wes: What!? (hardly misses a beat) It's okay, though. We're still friends with benefits.

Me: (facepalm)

A/N: Okay, here's the lineup:

Big Mac Jones/Jag Brick—Beaters

Dace Mentose/Elvin Founder—Chasers

Rae Scarze—Seeker

I fixed my hair for the umpteenth time, biting my lip and staring at the mirror. Surely, _surely_ I could get that one last hair perfectly into place… Oliver caught my hands in his. "Katie," he said levelly, using his index finger to lift my face up to his. "It's going to be _fine."_

I took a deep breath. "Yeah. Fine," I echoed, my voice nowhere near as calm as his. In fact, I sounded a little bit like I'd just inhaled a balloon full of helium.

He leaned forward and kissed me, then pulled back and smiled. "Really. It will."

I made a face and pulled my hands away from him, then took off my robes and set them on the couch. "How can you be so calm? And you need to shave." His face was scratchy.

"We're just going to see our families, Katie. They probably guessed this was going to happen back when we were toddlers. There's no reason to be nervous." Naturally, he paid no attention to my complaints about his stubble.

"I'm not nervous," I snapped defensively, crossing my arms across my chest.

Oliver gave me a knowing smile and picked my robes up from the couch. "Of course not."

I sighed in defeat and let him help me put my clothes back on. "Okay, maybe a little."

"You need to relax, love," he whispered, taking me in his arms. My heart stuttered at the endearment—so much better in a Scottish accent. The same Scottish accent that could get me to do just about anything, including joining a psychotic Quidditch team. He kissed my forehead. "Everything." He kissed my right eyelid. "Will." He kissed my left eyelid. "Be." He kissed the tip of my nose. "Fine." His lips found home, gently gliding over mine in a persuasive, strangely soothing way.

Eventually we were forced to pull away to breath—damn you, oxygen—and he looked down at me, his chestnut eyes searching. "Kates?"

I took a deep breath. "Everything will be fine?"

Oliver chuckled. "That's my girl. And, uh, you may want to brush your hair again." I stretched my neck up to kiss him again before heading to the bathroom to fix my hair.

A few minutes later, I returned and twirled for inspection. "I'm ready," I told him, this time actually _feeling_ ready.

His eyes appraised me smugly. "You're perfect," he decided.

I blushed—what girl _didn't_ want to be told she was perfect, wearing jeans and an old team t-shirt? Even more so, who didn't want to have Oliver Wood say it? I grabbed my duffel bag and slung it over my shoulder, then took Oliver's hand. "Shall we?"

He nodded easily. "Yep."

We arrived out behind my house, where our families had set up picnic tables, which were naturally overflowing with food.

"Katie! Ollie!"

My mother appeared, throwing her arms around us and absolutely smothering us with kisses. "Mum!" I said cheerfully, hugging her back. I love my Mum. She's really short—barely five foot—and a little round in her older age, but still as beautiful as ever. She has blonde hair the exact same shade as mine, and green eyes that both Blake and I inherited. I kissed her cheek as she stepped back to appraise the both of us.

"Katie!" she said in dismay. "You're so thin!"

"You always say that," I informed her, rolling my eyes. She's a hypocrite—Mum was a total twig back when she was in Hogwarts.

She ignored me. "And Oliver! Good lord, did you grow again?"

Oliver grinned. "I don't _think_ so. Did you shrink again?"

Quick as a whip, she smacked his shoulder with the back of her hand. "Watch it, sonny. I'm still as good with a bat-bogey curse as I ever was!"

He bowed. "Trust me, Mum Bell, I hold the highest respect for you. I also believe I should say hello to my own Mum before she accuses me of abandoning her."

Fortunately, he didn't have to look far, because his Mum came out of the house as he was ending his sentence. "Oliver!" she cried, trotting forward to hug him. Elaine Wood is definitely something else.

See, after Oliver was born, his mom didn't really lose the baby weight. By the time Oliver left for Hogwarts, she sort of got obsessed with the whole thing. She went on this super-strict vegan diet. You know, the kind where you don't eat _anything_ processed, or animal by-product-ish, or you know, tasty. She became one of those terrifying I-live-on-wheat-germ-and-soy-and-organic-vegetables-and-I-friggin-like-it-okay? people.

_I_ think it's sort of awesome, but Elaine and I are a lot alike. You know, neurotic. Oliver and his dad, however, are much less enthusiastic. When Oliver lived at home, they hid Pop Tarts under loose floorboards and cookies in the attic and went out for fried, greasy food whenever they could. Then they'd stop by my house to shower and air out their clothes before heading home. Oliver's mum can smell ingested egg rolls at fifty paces, so the whole cleaning process was totally futile, but they liked to try anyway.

When I was 14, Elaine tried to suck me into the whole deal. The lure: great for the body and skin. As a 14-year-old, I naturally admired her thin figure. I was at that awkward time where my arms and legs were too long and I was a little chubby because I hadn't started developing curves yet. Also, she had absolutely lovely skin, and like every other 14-year-old, I was sick of using acne potions. I didn't have terrible skin or anything, but the idea of not having any sort of zits sounded amazing.

Yeah, I made it halfway through lunch on my first day.

Then I retreated to Blake's room, where he, Oliver, and I inhaled Blake's candy-and-junk-food stash. Fortunately, that summer I developed curves, and that's when I got hard-core into Quidditch, spending all of my free time practicing with Oliver. So, basically, I could eat absolutely anything I wanted and say fit.

Anyway, Elaine hugged her son tightly for a moment before moving on to me. "How are you two?" she asked excitedly. She's also really beautiful—but, I mean, how could someone who produced Oliver _not_ be? Her hair was a few shades darker, with a streak of gray that was only a few years old, but her face was very similar to Oliver's.

"We're fine," Oliver replied. "A little run-down, but otherwise alright."

"Katie I heard you broke up with that Quidditch player—what was his name?"

"Vex Shanlow," Blake supplied, walking up behind me with his hands tucked in his pockets.

"Blake!" I shouted, jumping into his arms. He laughed, swinging me around a few times before setting me down. I stepped back to look up at him, automatically falling in right beside Oliver. This simple action, more familiar now than ever, caused my brother to look sharply between the two of us.

May I mention that Blake is one of the most perceptive people I've ever met?

Oliver gave him a guy-hug, laughing. "Man, I can't tell you all how glad I am that they broke up."

_And they have no idea exactly _how_ glad,_ I mused.

"Probably about as glad as I am," Blake said, grimacing. _Doubt it._

"You know, your name is still in the Professional Quidditch Players' Black Book," I said. "For infecting _two teams_ with the chicken pox."

Blake suddenly cleared his throat. "Actually, I have someone I'd like you to meet, and I would prefer it if you didn't sully her ears with such tales. This is Amelia Everheart, my girlfriend." For the first time, I saw a slim brunette beside my brother. I'd been too caught up with everything to notice her before. She was really quite pretty with dark skin, hazel eyes, and dimples. Of course, I noticed this later. At the moment, I was too stunned to speak.

Blake had never, _ever_ brought a girl home before. He was 26 years old, but I'd never met one of his girlfriends—and trust me, there were plenty of them. Do you know what that meant? He was planning on marrying her. Oh damn.

While I was mentally freaking out, Oliver stepped up to the plate and greeted her politely, giving me time to get back on my feet. Blake was smirking at me over Amelia's head. "Nice to meet you," I said, pressing my palm against hers. "I don't believe Blake's ever let me meet a girl before." Now he was scowling at me.

Amelia smiled. "I've heard so much about you," she told me in a lilting Spanish accent.

"I swear, most of it probably isn't true," I protested, and she laughed.

"No, no, most of it has been good, really. You're exactly as I pictured. You look so much like Blake!"

My brother and I exchanged a startled glance. "Really?" we chorused. But someone interrupted the moment.

"Hey, Kiddo!"

"Daddy!"

I whirled around to be enveloped in a wonderfully crushing bear hug. My dad is one of those intimidatingly huge guys with a big booming voice and a receding hairline. He laughed really loudly, liked to smoke cigars after dinner, and gossiped like an old lady. Everyone wanted to be his best friend.

When I was finally released, I saw that Oliver's dad was at his side. Once Gordon had released my boyfriend (oh god, the B word!) I threw myself into his arms, and he laughingly embraced me. If you haven't noticed, we're all really touchy-feely people.

"I see you've met Amelia," Dad boomed, settling both of his hands on my shoulders.

"Yes. I think she'd make a _lovely_ addition to the family," I said wickedly, my voice all innocence.

Everyone laughed, and Blake turned beet red. "Katie, why don't you go put your bag up in your room?" he suggested tightly.

"I'll help you," Oliver said quickly, taking me by the elbow and ushering me into the house before anyone could say anything.

"He is _so_ going to ask her to marry him!" I squealed once we were upstairs.

Oliver was grinning maniacally. "I know! It's about time he found the right girl." I raised an eyebrow at him. "What? I already have."

"I'm glad Blake found her. She seems nice enough," I said, setting my stuff down. "And she's super-beautiful."

Oliver wrapped his arms possessively around my waist. "Yeah, I'm happy for Blake. Unfortunately for him, _I've_ got one who's even better."

I made a face. "We've got to be careful with Blake. I always forget how perceptive he is."

"Yeah, I saw him watching us. Don't worry, Kates. We can tell them tomorrow, don't you think?"

"I guess. Man, it'll be a wonder if my mother's brain doesn't simply explode." My mum had devoted her life to tracking the business and love lives of Blake, Oliver, and myself. "I mean, all three of us tidily squared away in solid relationships in just a couple of days? That's like her dream come true."

He snickered and kissed me. "All right, I'm gonna take this over to my house, why don't you head back downstairs before Blake gets suspicious and decides to come looking for us?"

I sighed. "Fine." I lifted my face up to be kissed, and he obeyed, smiling against my lips—and careful not to bruise. We did _not_ need those questions asked. "All right, get out of here."

He left with a pop, and I headed back downstairs.

"So, what is it like on a professional Quidditch team?" Amelia asked while we ate dinner.

Oliver and I exchanged a glance. "Exhausting," we chorused. Mum threw us her trademark oh-my-poor-babies look. "But fantastic," Oliver added quickly, seeing her glance.

"Oliver, you're taking care of my girl, aren't you?" Mum asked.

Elaine snorted. "I don't think you should worry about Katie. What I want to know is if she's taking care of Oliver!"

"I am," I assured her, trying not to blush. Oh, if they only knew how _well_ we were 'taking care' of each other. "You know, protecting him from the crazed fangirls and all. It's a full time job, trust me."

"Is that so?" Blake murmured, and I realized he was giving us that measuring look again. I knew _exactly_ what he was thinking, so did Oliver, apparently, because he took immediate action.

"Hey Amelia, why don't you ask Blake about the time we had that Fizzing Whizbee eating contest."

Blake groaned. "Not the Whizbee contest!"

Amelia's lovely eyes lit up. "Come on honey, tell me!"

Blake totally melted to her will.

Dessert was this amazing chocolate cake creation thing. I took one bite and almost died of happiness. "Oh my god, who made this?" I demanded.

"I did," Amelia admitted.

"Will you marry me?" I asked seriously.

She laughed. "I'm sorry, Katie. I don't know how much Blake would appreciate that."

"Blake would definitely fight you for her," Blake said. "Even harder than I fought you for that black owl when we were kids."

"Neither of us got the owl," I pointed out.

"Exactly. Which is why I'll fight you even harder for Amelia. In short," he tucked her against his side, resting his chin lovingly on her shoulder. "You can't have her."

This openly possessive streak in my brother was quite fascinating. Really. My dad watched them with this big happy smile on his face and Mum actually dabbed at her eyes with her napkin. "Oliver, when are you going to find the right girl?" Elaine complained. "I'm getting old here!"

Oliver choked on a bite of cake. I helpfully pounded on his back while he coughed and sputtered. My face was probably no less red than his, though. "Jeez, Wood, be careful when you swallow," I said in a gosh-what-are-we-going-to-do-with-you voice. "Food goes down one pipe, air goes down the other. They are not, contrary to your apparent belief, interchangeable."

At last, he stopped coughing. "Right. Thanks, Katie." But both of our mothers were looking at us oddly. Oliver squeezed my knee under the table, his typical comforting gesture when we were in the spotlight.

"So, Blake, what's new at the hospital?" I asked. "You know, besides chicken pox?"

And thus everyone was quickly redirected.

Somewhere around two in the morning, the Woods returned to their house across the street and Blake saw Amelia home. I kissed my parents goodnight and stumbled up the stairs, and put on my pajamas, collapsing on my bed. I looked around at the familiar walls for a while, reminiscing. After about an hour of this, I realized I couldn't sleep. So I did what comes naturally when I can't sleep.

I went to Oliver, of course.

He was lying on his bed, looking up at the ceiling, when I Apparated in on top of him. "Katie?" he asked, as if he were surprised.

"Shh," I whispered. "We don't need Elaine sticking her head in here to see why you're talking to yourself."

He chuckled and rolled over on top of me. You know, if I had a choice, I believe I would spend the majority of my time kissing Oliver. The best part is that I sort of do. After a few minutes of lip-bruising snogging, I pulled my lips far enough away to be able to form words.

"So, what is this whole thing?" I asked, running my fingers down his jaw. He shivered a little. "Are you going for the scruffy look or something?"

"You know you like it," he said quietly, kissing down my throat.

"I do," I managed to choke out. "But you're sort of shredding my face." Oliver put a cool hand to my cheek, which was warm from abuse and, well, more pleasant things.

"I'm sorry." He pressed his lips to my cheek. "I promise to shave in the morning."

"Thank—"

Yeah, guess why I didn't get to finish that thought.

.xXx.

I woke up in my own room, and vaguely deduced that Oliver had brought me back, because I was positive that I'd fallen asleep with him. Good thing we were going to break the news today. The whole secretive sneaking around thing was already exhausting. I yawned and stretched, then stumbled downstairs. I could smell bacon.

I turned into the kitchen, then paused to lean against the doorway. Oliver was standing at the stove, flipping pancakes. Once again, no need to ask why he's in my kitchen—no way was he going to find edible food in his house. Blake was next to him, poking at a pan of bacon. Mum was dishing out scrambled eggs into a huge bowl. I just watched them for a moment.

Oliver turned, as if sensing my gaze on his back. I saw his hand flick outwards, and instantly, a wet tea towel hit me in the face. Before I could pull it off, he grabbed my wrist and yanked me back up the stairs. "What the fresh hell is wrong with you?" I snapped once we were upstairs and I had removed the offensive, clammy cloth from my face.

"Katie, have you looked in a mirror this morning?"

That took me aback. "What?"

"You might want to. And, er, put some makeup on or something."

Naturally, I was totally offended. "Look here, you ruddy berk, you're not exactly Gilderoy Lockhart this morning yourself, so you can just—" He shoved me into the hallway powder room. "Oh." I examined my face in the mirror. "Damn." Pash rash at its worst.

"I figured your family shouldn't see you like this, considering the fact that there are decidedly few males around who would have done that to you."

"Close the door."

"_What?"_ he looked at me like I was out of my mind.

I sighed in annoyance and reached by him, shutting both of us in the bathroom. Then I opened the bathroom cabinet, hunting for the concealer and aloe vera cream my mum seemed to keep everywhere. I found it and returned to the mirror.

"So, does it hurt?" Oliver asked gruffly, tucking his hands into his pockets as I smeared the cream over the tiny scratches that covered my cheeks and throat.

I shrugged, moving on to the concealer. "Pash rash is really more annoying than actually painful," I assured him. I finished and put the products away. "How does it look?"

He looked at me for a long moment and shook his head. "God, we have to tell everyone today, Kates."

I was startled by his sudden train of thought. "Why?"

"Because I would love to take full advantage of how gorgeous you look in the morning, but I fear that doing so might spur awkward questions." He leaned forward to kiss me, despite what he said about awkward questions.

Someone pounded on the door. "Katie, Oliver! What in Merlin's name are you two _doing_ in there!"

When Blake swung the door open, he found me poised over Oliver's hand with a pair of tweezers. "Got it!" I exclaimed triumphantly.

"Thank god. That splinter's been bugging me for _ages."_

"Breakfast is ready," Blake said warily, looking at Oliver and me carefully.

"Great. Let's go, shall we?" I grabbed them both by the elbow and towed them downstairs. We sat at the table with Mum, and helped ourselves to breakfast. Blake took the jar of peanut butter and began spreading it on his pancakes and Oliver poured himself a glass of milk.

"A bit early for makeup, isn't it?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. I silently cursed her ability to detect the most minute changes to my appearance.

"Where's Daddy?" I asked, once again flawlessly redirecting conversation.

"He got an emergency call at the office, but he said it probably won't take very long. He'll be back in a few hours." I nodded—my dad worked for the Ministry doing god only knows what. It was all "official business". Whatever it was, he was too often called in on emergencies.

Blake, on my left, finished with the peanut butter and passed it to me. I smeared a more than healthy amount of it on my pancakes, then passed it to Oliver, who handed me the milk. I poured a glass of it, then gave it to Blake, who traded me for the warm maple syrup. I drenched my food with the stuff and handed it to Oliver.

It was a quiet routine that we had adapted as children—one my parents always watched with one eye, bemused expressions on their faces, one that no longer required any thought.

"So what are we doing today?" Oliver asked around a thick bite of pancakes. What I heard in his question: when is everyone going to be together so we can drop our own personal nuclear bomb?

"I don't know," Mum replied, then took a bite of bacon and thoughtfully chewed. "Elaine and I were thinking maybe we should go out for a late lunch."

Okay, restaurant… at least someone else will have to clean up when Mum's head explodes. "Oh Mum, did I tell you? Angelina's pregnant!"

"Oh thank goodness! Now Fred will have to marry her sooner rather than later!" My mum was instantly aflutter with wedding ideas. I should also mention that Mum is the go-to woman for weddings. She knows absolutely everyone and everyone seems to owe her favors. She will undoubtedly see to it that Angelina and Fred's wedding is the most perfect event to ever happen.

"Mum," I said. "Fred was _always_ going to marry her."

"Well, now he's got to do it soon," she said defensively. I rolled my eyes. "And what about you, missy? You haven't dated anyone since you and Vex broke up."

I ducked my head and searched for a way to divert her accusing stare. "Oliver hasn't dated _anybody!"_

Oliver glared at me, and I smirked. But it worked—she zeroed in on him. "She's right. Oliver, when are you going to find a nice girl and settle down? It would make your mother and I so happy."

Man, the two of us getting together just covers all the bases, doesn't it? Everyone will be happy. Probably.

He shrugged. "I'm just looking for the right girl."

"Well how are you going to know who she is, if you don't date?" Mum demanded, aghast at the idea.

"Oh, I think I'll know," he said, completely innocent. I had to fake a coughing attack to disguise my laughter.

"I wouldn't trust your instincts," she warned. "At your age, certain…_things_… can get in the way."

"Mum!" Blake protested, turning bright pink.

Our mother chuckled wickedly. "Yes, well, don't even get me started on you, son, because if I did, I would mention that I will disown you unless you get a ring on Amelia's finger very, _very_ soon."

"Okay, that's enough. I'm going to work for a few hours," Blake decided, standing. Maybe I'll get _something_ done today."

"You'll be at lunch, though, won't you?" It wasn't really a question.

"Of course, Mum," Blake replied obediently, kissing her cheek. Then he ruffled my hair, slapped Oliver's back, and Apparated out.

For a second, this seemed like a really great thing—yay, the ever-observant Blake has finally left! Yeah, then I realized that it meant the two of us were alone with my mother.

Sure enough, the next words out of her mouth were, "So, Ollie dear, what type of girl are you interested in? I know some ladies with the _loveliest_ daughters…"


	16. Epic

"I hate Coachie, I hate Coachie," I sang morbidly, in my stuffed-up voice

A/N: Um, does anyone have any freaking idea why FF keeps repeating the first sentence of chapter 10 at the beginning of all of these things?! Argh!

Disclaimer: In band, my friends and I always had crushes on the upperclassmen. I do mean _always._ This year, we all discussed how bummed we were because all of our eye candy had graduated, and we were alone. Then we overheard a conversation between two freshmen girls.

Freshman One: "Oh my god, you know who's a total god? That Will Dalley!"

Freshman Two: "I know! Every time he takes his shirt off, I can't keep my mind on marching!"

We were beyond mortified. A) Will is one of my good friends, who I've known _forever._ B) I _dated_ Will. C) …We realized that our class is the new band eye candy…

Quote: Connor: "Well, I sort of wanted to make a freshman drink a gallon of milk and then run until he puked, but I thought it might be a little too much like hazing."

Daniel: "No, it's only hazing if you rub his nose in it afterwards."

Connor: "Bad puppy!"

A/N: Okay, here's the lineup:

Big Mac Jones/Jag Brick—Beaters

Dace Mentose/Elvin Founder—Chasers

Rae Scarze—Seeker

Have I ever mentioned how poorly I deal with stress? Now please flash back to my neurotic sugar quill eating before the Quidditch Final. Also remember my vomiting before my first professional game. And my various mental breakdowns. Oh, and who could forget my constant stripping problem?

Yeah, this is worse than any of that. Oliver's just as bad as I am. Here we are, sitting in a ridiculously nice restaurant with his parents, my parents, and Blake and Amelia, of course. Late lunch had turned into early dinner, which had turned into normal dinner, which had turned into "we have reservations for seven thirty, oh Katie dear, you brought a dress, didn't you?" I mean, it's a really nice place—I sort of feel bad about the fact that they're going to have to repaint it when Mum explodes.

But I'm still glad it won't be my job.

Oliver's mother is on my right, Oliver on my left, and my dad is on his other side, which means we're nicely squished in between parental authorities. I've been absolutely nauseous this whole meal, looking for an appropriate opening in the conversation. And somehow, there are just absolutely no appropriate moments.

"Excuse me, I'll be right back," Amelia said quietly, and left for the restroom. Because the conversation was forced to pause, I immediately saw opportunity. Just as I opened my mouth, Blake cut me off.

My brother leaned forward conspiratorially, gesturing for us all to do the same. A crazy grin split his face wide open. "I'm going to ask her to marry me when I take her home tonight."

Naturally, our mothers squealed and our dads reached across the table to shake his hand. For my part, I set my head down on the table and mentally abused myself. Why? Why me? First, Angelina's pregnant when I try to tell her I'm going out with Oliver. Now Blake's getting married. Why must this be so difficult? I'm half-contemplating just throwing Oliver to the floor in a crazy snog session and letting the chips fall where they may.

"Katie?" I picked my head up to look at my brother.

I felt the blood drain out of my face as I registered his wicked expression. "What?" I asked warily.

"Is there something you and Oliver would like to share with the family?" his voice dripped with personal amusement. I could tell that this was a lifetime of payback right here. Oh, he was _so_ going to enjoy this.

Instantly, Oliver and I were in the spotlight. "Katie?" Mum asked, confused. "What's going on?"

"Blake, I'm going to kill you," I said cheerfully. I looked at the adults. At this point, I realized that I had no freaking clue what to say. "Um…"

Oliver loosened his tie nervously. "Well, Mum… Mum Bell… we haven't been precisely honest with all of you."

My mother blinked, wide-eyed. I wanted to vomit. "What do you mean?"

He swallowed and looked between the two women. "Before I say anything, please take into consideration that Katie and I have known each other for a long time. In fact, you all might have even seen this coming." He folded my hand in his, there on the table where everyone could see, and we both looked for any reaction. No one leapt across the table in an attempt to separate us, and he squeezed my fingers tightly. Instead, they all looked supremely confused. "We, uh—"

"God Oliver, Katie's pregnant, isn't she?" Elaine exclaimed. We both stared at her in shock.

"You're pregnant?" Mum shrieked—gleefully, I should point out. "You _and_ Angelina?"

Blake sat back, smirking and watching. Amelia sat down next to him. "What did I miss?"

"Katie's pregnant!"

At this point, I decided it might be prudent to set the record straight. "I—"

"Oliver Wood!" I would know the sound of a screaming fangirl anywhere. Oh bloody hell. I hate it when they find us in the muggle world. "Oh my god, it's Oliver Wood!"

Six frantic, screaming girls swarmed the table, causing quite the scene.

"OH MY GOD, I LOVE YOU!"

"GUYS, IT'S KATIE BELL, TOO!"

"KATIE, YOU'RE MY FREAKING HERO! YOU'RE LIKE THE MOST AMAZING, MOST BEAUTIFUL, MOST PERFECT FEMALE—er, ATHLETE—EVER!" Okay, so the fangirls are good for an ego boost now and then, I'll admit it.

"OLIVER, YOU'RE SO GORGEOUS! I LOVE YOU! **YOU ARE WHAT'S RIGHT WITH THIS WORLD!!"** But they've got to get their teenybopper asses away from my boyfriend.

"Ladies, if you'll please come with me," a waiter said, smoothly asserting himself into the situation.

One of the girls grabbed his arm. "You don't _understand,"_ she said. "That's _Oliver_ _Wood_ and _Katie_ _Bell_."

"This is, like, _epic,"_ one of the others added seriously, her eyes wide.

"Girls, please, or I'll have to have security escort you outside."

"Okay, just—Oliver, can I _touch_ you?"

Oliver stared at her briefly, but quickly recovered. "Er, I can't really let you do that. You know, the whole 'if I let one girl touch me, I'd have to let _everyone_ touch me' thing. And I just don't really have time for that, you know?" Did he really just say that? I can't believe he just said that.

She looked only slightly deflated. "I understand totally and completely. And I want you to know that I don't love you any less for it."

The waiter took hold of two of the girls' arms. "Now, this way—"

"Wait!" a brunette girl shrieked. "Please," she pleaded. "This is like, completely important and possibly life-changing. I can't even impress upon you the importance of this question." The poor man sighed and waved his hand in an if-you-must manner. She approached me, her dark eyes wide and serious. In response to her intensity, I leaned forward a little. "Katie, what do you use to dye your hair?" Why is it always the hair?

I exchanged a world-weary look with the waiter. "I swear to the gods of the game that I don't dye my hair."

The waiter was finally able to escort the girls away, amidst their scandalized chatter (What? Katie Bell doesn't dye her hair? THE FABRIC OF OUR UNIVERSE IS UNRAVELING!) Once it was quiet again, Oliver and I returned our attention to our families, who were looking at us, completely stunned. Blake was bright red from withheld laughter, and Amelia looked rather impressed with us.

Oliver cleared his throat. "So… what were we talking about?"

What _were_ we talking about?

"Oh, gee, I don't know, the fact that you got Katie pregnant!" Elaine burst.

Oh. _That's_ what we were talking about.

My dad gave Oliver a disapproving-uncomfortable stare. "Oliver, son, I think you and I need to have a talk."

Oh sweet lord. This must end.

"Do I bloody _look_ pregnant to any of you?"

There was an extremely awkward silence as everyone paused and looked at me. I could see what they were thinking: "What does _that_ have to do with anything?!" Yeah. I'm related to geniuses.

"I'm not pregnant." I clarified.

My mum trilled with laughter. "Oh honey, of course you are!"

No seriously. She just said that. "No… I'm not."

"She's really not," Oliver added helpfully. Mum and Elaine's faces fell, but both of our fathers visibly relaxed.

"Oh, then what's so bloody important that you had to cause such a fuss?" Mum asked, looking extremely put out.

"You're the one who made the fuss!" he protested.

"You and Elaine! You're both evil little gossips!" I paused. "Actually, Blake's the one who started all of the drama." My brother was leaning back in his chair, his arms folded, watching us like we were a bloody television program.

"Katie, are you going to tell us whatever it was you were going to tell us, or am I going to die of old age?" Mum scolded.

"Oh, well, we're dating," Oliver said quickly.

Everyone stared at us. "That's it?"

"What do you mean, _'it'?"_ I squeaked. "This is, like epic!" Yes, I was stooping to using fangirl phrases. But, really, it fit the situation. "Your children, you know, _dating!"_

"I don't know if I like you living with your boyfriend," Dad grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. Blake burst into a fit of 'coughing'.

"Dad! It's Oliver!"

He shrugged. "Still, you're young…"

"Dear Merlin, you looked happier when you thought I was pregnant!" I leaned against Oliver, who brushed my hair away from my neck. "Isn't anyone going to say anything nice?"

"I'm very happy for you," Blake managed to choke out.

"Oh, thank you so much," I snapped.

"Honey, calm down," Mum said, fluttering her hands. "It's just, we always suspected that this would happen, and—"

"You did?" Oliver interrupted, looking completely startled.

"Of course," his Mum said, raising her eyebrows. "It was only a matter of time."

"Like, all of you?" he asked. Even our dads nodded. Apparently Oliver had never even considered the fact that our parents might have predicted this. I had only briefly entertained the idea. "Wow, I feel oddly betrayed by that fact…"

And things moved on from there. No more life-altering moments. No more screaming fangirls. Just relative normalcy.

I felt strangely cheated of a proper response. I had really expected… well, I don't know what I'd expected, but everyone had so easily accepted Oliver's and my relationship, like it was no big deal. It was such a huge deal to me—I guess I felt like it should be a huge deal to everyone.

Oh well.

Oliver went home with his parents, and mine went to sleep, but I stayed awake. I sat alone downstairs, digging my way through a gallon of fudge brownie ice cream while I waited for Blake to come home. When he did, he walked straight into the kitchen, grabbed a spoon, and sat down across from me, taking a huge bite of ice cream.

"So?"

He thoughtfully licked his spoon. "She said yes."

I grinned. "Of course she did. God, she's so perfect for you. It's like you two were made for each other."

"I love her."

"Blake, you're head over your damn heels for her," I corrected. "As soon as I met her, I knew."

He rolled his eyes. "You did not."

"Did too! You can ask Oliver. When we came inside to put our bags away, I told him you were planning on marrying Amelia. It was just so obvious."

He didn't respond, now stabbing at the ice cream pointlessly. I waited, knowing exactly what he was thinking about. I suppose it's unavoidable. "Katie, I'm your big brother." I just nodded. How perceptive of him. "I've spent your entire life protecting you, telling guys that if they broke your heart, I'd break their face." He and Oliver both had—Vex being the one exception. And breaking his face myself had turned out rather satisfying, thank you. "And you went and fell in love with the only one I never had to tell."

"Yes," I agreed. He was right.

He shook his head. "Part of me wants to tear him limb from limb, you know. I've always trusted Oliver with you. I've always known that, aside from me, he's the last male on this planet who would possibly hurt you. I've always been able to trust him to protect you with the same vigilance that I would. Now, he's tampered with that trust, because he's the enemy. Suddenly, he's the guy we've always protected you against."

Blake looked out the dark window, across to the Woods' house. "At the same time, I'm entirely grateful to him, because I know that he has your best interests in mind. I know, without a doubt, that he would die before hurting you. You couldn't be in safer, more loving hands, Katie." He rubbed his forehead tiredly and grinned. "Try to hold onto him, won't you? I'm pretty sure you won't find a better man."

I smiled and reached out to ruffle my brother's hair gently. "Thank you." Blake, at least, was giving us his blessing. I put the lid on the ice cream and put it back in the fridge, then turned to head up to my room.

"And Katie?"

I turned to look at him. "Please stay in your room tonight. I think Pash Rash two mornings in a row will tip Mum off."

I made a face. "Karma's a bitch, you know. Night, Blake."

"Love you, sis."

"Love you, too."

I trotted up to my room and shut the door behind me. I briefly contemplated Apparating over to Oliver's, but decided against it. Blake did have an annoying habit of being right.

Which, suddenly, was extremely encouraging.


End file.
